License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) (13 page)

The most commonly accepted winning strategy was to play tight-aggressive, meaning you played fewer hands very aggressively. That, too, could have accounted for Tate’s choice.

Bancroft, who was in seven, apparently thought knowledge was power and opted for late in the deal. Since the deal button rotated from player to player, the advantage was eventually lost. That is, if one survived the game long enough.

The casino dealer frowned at Rock. “Mr. Powers. I believe the table is full. And you’re—”

“Banned from play. That’s right.” Rock laughed. “I’m just here to watch and keep the lady company.” He took Lani’s elbow, glad he finally got to touch her even innocently. “We’ll be at the bar.”

Rock led Lani to the bar. When she walked, every male eye followed her. At the bar, she seated herself in such a way as to draw as much attention as possible to herself, sitting with her legs crossed facing the table, the short skirt of her dress all but disappearing. The men were probably thinking about her beautiful, panty-less body beneath the scanty sheath. Rock sure was.

Tate, my man. I have to give you credit. Using Lani to create a diversion is brilliant.

Even if it was driving Rock mad with desire and jealousy.

Rock got Lani one of those girlie drinks made with chocolate vodka and a name like Chocolate Desire and turned his attention to the group of gamblers, ignoring her rapturous murmurs about the scrumptiousness of chocolate.

He was convinced she was just trying to torment him again. It was hard enough keeping his hands off her as it was.

Bancroft sat two down from Tate, looking cool and urbane, like anything but a thug. Expensively dressed, midthirties, clean-cut. He was the kind of guy you pictured on Wall Street in a high-rise corner office. Rock recognized Bancroft by reputation, but had never seen him in person in a casino before. Bancroft was big in online poker and had his own fan club and Web site.

Bancroft had two thugs positioned behind him, or Rock missed his guess. They looked more like junior law partners than strong arms, but as uninterested as they tried to appear, they were definitely Bancroft’s men. Rock noticed Lani subtly watching them as well.

One of them fiddled with a touch screen tablet very near Tate. Probably keeping the fans up to date about the live-action play. Rock noticed the stylus the guy used was unusual, a little thicker than normal, and from the way the guy handled it, heavier, too.

A stylus was the biggest implement allowed near the table. Anything bigger could be considered a weapon. Rock wondered briefly whether it was some kind of mini baton and made a note to keep an eye on it and the bean counter wielding it. He was also going to make sure the guy wasn’t using the tablet to somehow signal Bancroft the cards Tate held.

Next to Bancroft in eight sat a dark man known as the Cuban in gambling circles. He must have had a real name, but damn if Rock could remember it. He was a regular in Vegas, almost a celebrity. He looked hard, like the streets of Havana. Which may have explained how he’d outmuscled Bancroft for the last position of the deal. Or maybe it was his reputation. The Cuban was fearless, cockily so. And known for being reckless, too. A bad, hotheaded combo. But it made for exciting poker for the spectators. Even with the Cuban’s superior table position, Rock wouldn’t place any bets on him walking away with the big pot. More likely he’d end up a victim of his own ego.

A middle-aged couple, obviously husband and wife, sat in one and two. Rock hadn’t seen them in the casinos before. He wondered whether they had more money to burn than they knew what to do with, or were looking for a thrill, or were simply desperate for quick money and cash.

The woman had sharp eyes and angular features and flashed a ferocious gaze at Lani when she thought her husband wasn’t looking. Her husband was the nervous, cautious type. He’d scare easily and wouldn’t hold his head unless his wife held it for him. They’d probably be first out. Maybe second.

The woman in three was late thirties, graying, men’s haircut, lean and muscular, no bust. The complete opposite of the way Lani played Gillian. Her eyes were intelligent and hard. She looked like she was used to kicking boys’ butts. As Rock wondered where she’d come from, he gave her even odds of hanging in.

The guy in four had perfected a poker face. He was probably late fifties. A longtime pro with a solid reputation. He was a wild card. It would all depend on whether he could remain calm and not panic as play began.

The kid in six was young, a nerd, probably had a system all worked out and a pile of money from some Internet start-up to blow. Knew the mathematical odds down to the tenth decimal point and would try to fool the casino into thinking he wasn’t counting. Rock didn’t recognize him and figured that was intentional. The kid had probably waited for this minute to strike with his system and bring home a big killing. If his system was too effective, he’d be banned from the casinos. This might be his one big shot. But the kid’s weakness would be his inability to read people.

“What are you thinking?” Lani whispered in Rock’s ear.

“That Tate has excellent taste in women and wisely chose you as a distraction,” Rock whispered back. “You’re distracting me, at least.”

She laughed. “Keep your head in the game.”

The dealer made introductions around the table and the game began with the married woman in number one in the button seat as dealer. Random chance runs medium to high in hold ’em. But players like to believe they’re in control.

Watching the first few rounds, Rock developed a sense of respect for Tate. He knew what he was doing and played every hand just as Rock would have. Rock borrowed a pen and paper from the guy behind the bar and recorded every move he would have made and showed them to Lani as play continued.

Tate played with enough skill that Rock was pretty sure he was counting cards and damn good at reading people. Not to mention he was a lucky bastard. There was no denying that some people were born with lady luck on their side.

“Did Tate ever take a course on probability and statistics?” Rock asked Lani.

She gave a seductive shrug of her shoulders. “I suppose so. He’s a software genius. But I’ve never really asked. It’s not what excites me about him.”

Either Lani was really good at staying in character, or she just couldn’t resist tormenting Rock.

“Want to see my predictive powers of prestidigitation at work?” he asked her.

“Love to. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to predict the order in which the players drop out of the game.” He had to do something to impress his wife and get her attention back on him. He wrote his predictions on a napkin and showed it to her before placing it facedown beneath another napkin. “For safekeeping.”

Not. If Rock’s educated guesses were wrong it was a simple matter to switch the list out. Lani had barely glanced at it. If he wrote the order down as the players fell out and replaced the list, she’d never be the wiser.

“You’re a gambling man,” Lani said. “I like that.”

“Do you like gambling enough to place a wager yourself?”

Lani arched a delicate brow. “What do you have in mind?”

“If I guess the order the players fall out of the game correctly, you appear in my act after I come off hiatus.”

“Very clever, Rock,” Lani whispered in his ear. “I’ve always wanted to appear as a blonde in a magic act.”

Rock returned his focus to the game and watched the play.
Tate should take another card,
he wrote and showed it to Lani just as Tate did just that.

Tate bet aggressively and took chances. He won when the rest of the players folded and took in a large pot.

“You’re good,” Lani said.

He couldn’t be sure whether she was stroking his ego. “Yeah, that’s why I’m banned.”

As the hours slid by, the stakes rose higher and higher, the losses mounted into staggering millions, and the jovial mood dissipated into nervous tension. The room smelled first of expensive cologne and perfume, and gradually more and more like a gym in the heat of a vicious basketball game.

One by one the players fell out—first the married couple. Then the Cuban who’d started out in the prime position got cocky and irresponsibly reckless and was out.

Lani’s cell phone buzzed. She pulled it from her purse and checked her messages. Her eyes lit up and she smiled as she read a text.

Not above eavesdropping, or whatever you call reading someone else’s messages, and obviously not above spying, Rock read the text over her shoulder while pretending not to. Magicians were skilled at many things, including reading upside down, sideways, mirror images, and in dimly lit casinos with the victim covering the message for privacy. How else did a good magician get valuable magical intel?

“Good news, I hope,” Rock said, acting as if he hadn’t the slightest idea what it said when, of course, he’d read the entire message. Sol had just offered Lani the job as his main assistant.

“I just got an audition for a part I’ve been dying for!”

“Congrats.” Rock raised his glass to her in a toast, hating that she’d be working with Sol.

She clinked his glass with hers.

Rock was growing tired of watching poker. “What do you say to speeding the game up and making things interesting?”

“I’m all for interesting,” Lani said.

“Good. Make eyes at the nerd every time before he bets,” Rock whispered to Lani. He may as well use his wife for the good of the mission. “He’s nervous and his lack of composure is beginning to show. He’s exposing his tell. See the way his hands shake when he’d got a good hand?

“The other players have certainly noticed that. Make him nervous. Give him a false shake tell. We’ll see who that shakes up and causes to make a mistake. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and cause the sweet little nerd to lose concentration and screw up.”

“You are devious.” Lani cooed the words with completely plausible admiration.

“Diversions, darling.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Lani said, but her eyes danced.

“There’s nothing in the rules that prohibit making eyes at a player. Just as long as Tate doesn’t get jealous. Then again, Tate’s savvy enough to realize what you’re doing.”

“You’re just trying to cheat now and make that list of yours come true.” She smiled seductively at him.

He felt himself growing involuntarily hard. “I did pull diamonds from behind your ear.”

“Are you saying you could do it again?”

“Is that blackmail?”

She winked. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Rock grinned as Lani turned her gaze on the kid. With the kid’s next hand, which Rock was certain was a bad one, he shook like a junkie going cold turkey and was breathing so rapidly it looked as if he might hyperventilate. Rock’s little trick was enough to spook the woman with the buzz cut. She folded to cut her losses and lost everything she had in the pot. Which was everything she had left. She’d held the winning hand, but now she was out of the game.

And, yes, Rock was cheating, making sure the players went out of the game in the order he’d predicted.

Luck next turned against the kid and he was out, too. So far Rock’s guesses were right on the money. Next the pro fell, going for gusto when he should have held.

And then there were two.

There’s no time in a casino, but judging by the way bed was beginning to beckon, it had to be the wee hours of the morning. Rock liked to stay up all night, but in truth he needed his sleep to be sharp in his act.

Bancroft sat in the dealer. The dealer dealt—two cards apiece for Tate and Bancroft. Five on the table, faceup. Tate placed an outrageous bet, enough to bankrupt him, and the U.S. taxpayers, if he lost.

Ah, yes. Tate must be able to count cards. By Rock’s reckoning the odds that Tate held the winning hand were in his favor.

Bancroft looked desperate. His stash of cash was running low, but he anted up, looking subtly ashen. If he lost this hand, and the money, which was probably largely his clients’, he was a dead man.

Tate’s turn again. But before he could place his bet, a funny thing happened. Bancroft’s goon with the stylus unobtrusively stuck it in Tate’s back between two ribs at an angle that from Rock’s point of view looked as if it was aiming directly for Tate’s playboy heart.

Rock’s mouth went dry. The way the guy held the stylus it looked as if he had his finger on a trigger.
On a trigger—what the—

And then it hit Rock—that damn stylus wasn’t a club.
It’s a cleverly disguised gun. Damn.

The room buzzed around Tate, but no one besides Rock, not even Lani, seemed to notice Tate’s dilemma. Except maybe Bancroft, who’d ordered it and had had a change of attitude, as if the winds of fortune had shifted. He looked pleased and as if he was particularly looking forward to his upcoming win.

As Tate considered his next move, Rock watched Bancroft’s man. His lips were moving. Rock had learned how to read lips years ago. It was part of the magician’s bag of tricks.

The guy with the stylus was quietly counting down from ten into Tate’s ear. Now, sure, most people could read lips well enough to recognize someone counting, especially if the counter enunciated clearly. This guy was being subtle, counting for Tate’s ears only. Unless Rock missed his guess, which he never did, educated guessing was his trade of craft, Bancroft’s buddy was urging Tate to fold on penalty of death. Hobson’s choice—lose his life or the hand. And the taxpayers’ fifty million.

Rock resisted the urge to look at his thumb gun as the countdown continued. He pointed his thumb like an eager hitchhiker at Bancroft’s man. Damn, the woman with the butch haircut obscured his shot. Rock tried another angle. Still no good. It was as if the woman was hell-bent on getting in the way.

Maybe she was. For all Rock knew, she was part of Bancroft’s team. Even though she was about as soft and cuddly as a steel-toed boot being wielded by a three-hundred-pound construction worker, Rock couldn’t take the chance he’d hit her by mistake. He made a mental note to get some practice with the thumb at the firing range.

Even if Rock were successful in hitting his intended victim, how would it look to shoot Bancroft’s thug in public view? This mission was supposed to be hush-hush, not
Famous Magician Rock Powers Kills a Man With His Thumb
headline material.