Here Comes Trouble (19 page)

“Have you played for this guy before? Is there something wrong with how he does things?”

“Yes, I have, and on the surface, no.”

“But below the surface?”

Brett lifted one shoulder. “There are a lot of rumors, possibly some shady dealings. There is Russian backing with the resort that’s never been entirely on the up and up, at least that’s the word. There’s rumor of other questionable European backing, Pacific Rim, too.”

“That’s…rather broad in scope. Is that common?”

“Not quite to that degree, and it’s not necessarily true, either. Other than the Russian part. No one has ever been able to prove anything, but the talk persists. It’s been several years now, and talk doesn’t usually stick like that unless there’s something to it. And my gut tells me there is. So, when Maksimov comes knocking, I usually find somewhere else to be.”

“Is it just you, or all the pros?”

“Most of the guys at the top tend to steer clear, or only get involved when the outside support is unimpeachable.”

“I imagine that doesn’t sit well with whoever owns the place. To be shunned. Are there other, I guess you could call it privately blacklisted resorts?”

“Some, especially the oldest ones, have never been able to shake some of their early connections to organized crime.”

“Is that still a thing? Really?”

“Not in the way of the past, no. It’s taken on a far more international flavor these days. Not to mention highly sophisticated. You have both syndicated, organized action, as well as independent problems.”

“I guess I thought that would have been dealt with a long time ago. I know the town has really tried to build up a more family-friendly atmosphere.”

“Because it plays well. But don’t be fooled. When you have that much money concentrated in such a small, controlled area, it would be foolish to think they don’t have a hand in.”

“And you think Maksimov works for that kind of outfit?”

“Directly or indirectly? No proof, but I trust my instincts.”

“A Russian Mafioso. Great. And, of course he’s staying here. Are you sure I can’t rework the books and block him out?”

“He’s harmless enough, especially if he wants something from me.”

“And when he doesn’t get it?”

“He never gets it. It’s par for the course. He just keeps getting sent out to try. Not my problem if he goes back empty-handed. And, chances are, to be honest, if he doesn’t get a verbal commitment from me, he’ll be able to schmooze it from any number of other players.”

“I thought you said—”

“I said some of them, mostly the ones who can afford to say no. Most players can’t. Maksimov will do fine on his recruiting mission. He just won’t be recruiting me.”

She continued to look dubious, and he bent down to kiss her nose.

“I’ll let you know if I think anything has changed where he’s concerned. But while I’m not happy he’s going to be here, it’s just an irritation. At least if he’s staying here, you keep an eye, too, maybe help run a little interference and keep him off my back.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Use those guest services skills you’re always bragging about.”

She merely arched a brow, but said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

He bussed her on the mouth. “See? Good teamwork.”

“Speaking of teamwork…” She smiled against his mouth as he was already kissing her before she could finish the sentence.

There would be a lot going on over the next few weeks that would take a fast-lane learning curve to deal with…so she definitely could get used to having someone around who was so in tune with her.

She gasped and arched off the bed as he moved lower down her body. Especially when his thoughts were tuned in to doing this…

B
rett leaned into the turn as he eased his bike around the bend, then up another steep, winding curve. When he’d left the desert, he’d headed east, across the flat prairie of middle America, before encountering his first swell of hills and mountains. Nothing like they had out west, but he’d never taken off in the direction of the Rockies, so he’d found it a bit exhilarating, all the twists and turns, steep ascents and swift downhill drops. When he’d taken off from the resort a few hours ago, he’d intended to go home, back to the inn, but instead he’d found himself turning up a side road that led into the hills, where he’d been tooling around the winding back roads since.

Thinking.

About things like why he’d so easily and naturally thought of Kirby’s inn as home. It hadn’t been a casual thought, either. He’d never once thought of his hotel rooms as home, or even a home away from home. Though he’d stayed in the exact same rooms many, many times over the years, and they’d been familiar to him, they had always remained exactly what they were. A place to crash, eat, and sleep between sitting at tables for endless hours. And giving interviews, teaching seminars, doing local promotion for the various event hosts and sponsors. Whatever was required of him to help give back to the sport that had given him, well, pretty much everything.

If ever a place had felt like home it had been his rooms at Vanetta’s, but for the past few years, they’d come to feel like more of a hideout than home and hearth. He hadn’t thought of it that way at the time, of course. It had been the only real home he’d ever known. But now…now…

He thought about the inn, about Kirby. And maybe it wasn’t that place, either, specifically, though his feelings about the inn itself were definitely filled with real affection. Maybe it was Kirby. Thinking of her, wanting to return to her, wherever she was. That’s what felt like the haven he’d always thought a home should be. A place where the world dropped away and he could relax, be completely and utterly himself. And, more importantly, would know, without a doubt, that that was exactly who he was supposed to be.

Being with Kirby wasn’t hiding, not like Vanetta’s had become. He’d been seeking serenity, he realized, which was something rare in his profession, given both the intensity of the game itself and the actual location of the events. Bright lights and endless noise was life inside a casino.

But it was a serenity that went deeper than creating a peaceful environment. It was serenity of the soul. Where he could discover a completely different kind of fulfillment. Where all sorts of needs that had nothing to do with money and repayment of debts, real or imagined, existed. It was about feeding into something entirely different. And he knew that all of those things existed for him, or could exist for him, wherever Kirby Farrell happened to be.

He took the next curve a bit more deeply, enjoying the thump of adrenaline that pumped into his veins as he leaned into the turn, unsure if the cause was the tight curve or the thoughts of Kirby, or both.

These past few weeks, since the two of them had decided on launching the charitable event, had been a new form of chaos for him, and not a little frustrating. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with her as the demands of putting together the event as quickly as humanly possible had kept him at the resort almost full time, and on the phone more often than not the rest of the time. Kirby, meanwhile, had been more than a little busy herself, preparing for her onslaught of guests, all slated to arrive in just a few short days now.

Though the temperatures in the evening were dipping lower and lower, the daytime temps had remained unseasonably warm, and yet that hadn’t curbed the enthusiasm of the guests wanting to come out and be part of the event. He was thrilled for her, as that had been the goal all along, but, personally, selfishly, he was missing her, missing their alone time in the seclusion of her empty inn.

And yet, that same passage of time had been grounding, and illuminating, for the precise reason that it had frustrated him. He wanted to be with her. Needed to be. More. Often. All the damn time. And not just for the sex, or even the conversation, though he had swiftly come to wanting and needing both all the damn time, too. He wanted to play house with Kirby Farrell. Cooking dinner, doing odd chores around the inn, reading the paper over the breakfast table, hauling mounds of bed linens down the basement stairs to the industrial-size washer and dryer.

Sitting next to her on the porch in the evening, sipping a glass of wine, enjoying the crisp bite in the air as the sun finally ducked behind the surrounding peaks. Talking about what she was going to plant in her spring garden and the final improvements she wanted to make to the inn, watching her face as she listened to some of his ideas, seeing the light enter her eyes as she realized he was as invigorated by the architecture and character of the old place as she was. Like spirits, crossing paths by chance or divine design, now moving forward, with barely restrained anticipation, on a newly created path of their own.

Yes, he wanted to play house with Kirby Farrell. And not just for the next few weeks, either. A good-size part of him couldn’t wait for the damn event to be over so he could go back to…what, exactly?

Hanging out with Kirby? Sleeping with Kirby? Living with Kirby? He didn’t rightly know. He didn’t know where her head was at, regarding him, her future, or any possibility of their future.

Hence the spontaneous road trip this morning.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it all, about what was going to happen when the event was over. He had people waiting for him back in Vegas. Family, at least to him. But now he also had Kirby. And with all these thoughts and emotions swirling through him, he wasn’t sure he could face her without blurting it all out. And when he did that, he wanted all those thoughts and emotions to be a bit more cohesive than they were at that moment. Because this time, when he went all in, the stakes were going to be the biggest of his life.

And then there was that other part, too. The rest-of-his-life part. And what the hell he wanted to do with that. And if there was any way that rest-of-his-life part could find a place here in the mountains of Vermont. A place that would give him the chance to see what could come of a future with Kirby. A place far, far away from flashing lights, endless noise, and playing cards. But also far, far away from the only other people on the planet he loved and cared for.

His gut knotted—or more precisely the knot already in his gut tightened—at the thought of actually playing again. Not the game itself. In some odd way, when he was playing, at least against a good table, the world shrunk down to that green baize surface, the cards in front of him, the stacks of chips being flipped, toyed with, shoved in, raked out. Everything else fell away.

He slowed his bike as it hit him, that it was that feeling, that solitude among chaos, that, in and of itself, was the bigger draw for him. Not of winning, or involving himself mentally in the challenge of the game itself. He wondered when that shift had actually happened. A long time back, that much he knew now. When money had ceased to be the reason for playing. When there was no real need to win, other than to keep all those folks who had given him a shot in the first place happy. He slowed down further as another realization sunk in. That place out of time was exactly what he felt when he was with Kirby.

Did that mean she was simply another escape hatch from the real world? Was that feeling he had when he was with her merely one of…what, relief?

Partly. He had to admit that was partly it. There were two places in the world where he absolutely knew who he was. Sitting at a poker table…and sitting across from Kirby Farrell. But there was more to it. Nothing in his life had ever stimulated him on so many simultaneous levels as playing in a high stakes game did. Until Kirby.

She reached all kinds of places that no game could. There were simply no other stakes that could climb that high…or penetrate that deep.

But what did that say? Was he merely trading one fixation for another? Was that healthy? Would it make him any happier in the long run?

He honestly didn’t know.

He just knew he wanted the chance to find out.

Brett sped up and took the next turn at a scream. Then he slowed as a glint of sun off glass from somewhere deep in the trees on the slopes high above caught his eye. He slowed further, but after a quick flash of a building—a home, the prominent structure of which made it appear as if it were thrusting out beyond trees, soaring, almost—vanished as the road took another turn.

He couldn’t have said why it mattered, or why he suddenly had to see more of it, but if it blessedly took him out of his own head for a few minutes, then he welcomed the distraction. On the next curve, he spied another road, a narrow, roughly paved track, snaking up the hill, in the direction of where the house had to be. He took the turn without asking himself why. Thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere. So, for the next hour or so, he planned to just go, follow his gut, turn off his brain, and the hell with what came next.

It was early afternoon by the time he rolled back into Pennydash. His brain wasn’t going any slower than it had when he’d taken off that morning, but the thoughts running through it right now had taken on a decidedly new slant. One that might lead to a few answers. And probably a whole lot more questions, too. But he was excited about that part this time.

He discovered he’d had a call as he’d descended back into cell range, leaving him with a voice mail. It was from the resort, telling him there was a guest there, impatiently waiting for his return. Brett knew Maksimov was due into town shortly, and he had purposely put off thinking about the conversation he was sure to be having with the stubborn Russian. But Brett hadn’t been in any mood to contemplate. Too many other, far more tantalizing thoughts crowding his brain. He’d known he would handle whatever the hell Maks wanted when he finally saw him face to face. No point in dwelling on it.

And now it appeared that the happy event was imminent. Lovely. Kirby had shifted Maksimov’s reservation from the inn to the resort after all, telling Maks after the fact. She said the transition had been smooth and he had seemed fine with her apology for over-booking. A light fib at the time, but she’d filled that room since, so all was okay. At least until he had to talk to the man himself.

He sighed. As much as he wanted to race back to the inn, back to Kirby, share with her the million new thoughts racing around inside his head, get her feedback…he decided he’d get this out of the way first.

So he leaned into the turn heading up to the main resort hotel and conference center and gunned it up the steep, winding entrance into the ski resort. Winterhaven wasn’t nearly as fancy or over the top in design as the resorts he’d grown up prowling around, but it definitely had an inviting air about it. It was styled to look like an extended series of Swiss chalets, all curved in a giant arc along the base of the slopes, allowing guests to ski right from their rooms to the slopes. The main resort building containing registration, shops, restaurants, and other guest services was tucked into the center of the chalets. It was designed to look like a larger, more complex version of the rest. This unique concept offered a rather intimate, more casual-slash-village feel to the place, while at the same time making guests feel they were staying somewhere special.

His thoughts drifted immediately to Kirby and he found himself trying to picture her running a resort the size of Winterhaven. Very likely the one she’d helped manage in Colorado had been decidedly bigger than this one. And though he was well aware she was competent enough to handle whatever she was thrown…he thought the small, quaint inn atmosphere suited her personality better. Like its owner, Pennydash Inn was an openly warm and welcoming establishment that made you feel instantly at home…yet housed in a quietly elegant, beautifully detailed structure.

He’d never really thought about all the elements that went into running a successful hotel, whether it be resort, chain, inn, or even boarding house for that matter. Not that he hadn’t realized how hard Vanetta worked to keep her place going, but there were all kinds of elements that he’d never considered.

Over the past few weeks, he’d gotten a true glimpse of what Kirby’s life would be like if the inn was operating as it was supposed to be. He selfishly and unapologetically wanted more time with her, before the true insanity descended upon her little adopted burg.

And that was going to add another layer of complexity to all the thoughts swirling inside his head, but at that moment, he had to switch mental gears and focus on dealing with Maksimov. Then Brett could work on getting the hell back out of the resort before someone else sidelined him with a myriad of new details that needed his immediate attention.

He missed her, dammit.

He was thinking about stopping by the Food Mart on the way back to the inn and showing up with a couple of steaks, maybe an assortment of local cheeses, a decent bottle of wine—Kirby had introduced him to some very nice local labels there, too—and negotiate a stop-work measure where they both turned off their cell phones and locked themselves inside his top-floor bedroom for the rest of the day and night. Surely everything wouldn’t fall apart if they went AWOL for a few hours.

He was quite happily playing out that delightful scenario as he tooled around the loop that led to the main lobby. So he missed the doors sliding open.

“Well, it’s about time, buddy.”

Brett almost laid the bike on its side as the familiar voice—one without any Russian accent whatsoever—reached through the carnal haze that had swiftly been clouding his brain and clicked his synapses back to reality.

He managed to steady the bike until he brought it under control and stopped it. Then quickly parked and climbed off as he saw, quite clearly, that he hadn’t been hallucinating.

“Dan?” His face split into a wide grin. “What the hell?” Then he immediately sobered. “Wait, is everything okay? Your dad, Vanetta—”