Romance: Wanted by the Alpha Lion (A BBW Paranormal Suspense Romance) (Heroes of Shifter Creek Book 2) (60 page)

Chapter 1

The air reeked of opportunity as Brock Carson prowled the players in the upscale casino on the Vegas strip. He didn’t bother with the slots or penny ante poker tables; he couldn’t make a good profit there. Instead, he patrolled the high roller tables – roulette, craps, and serious Texas Hold’Em contenders. That’s where he could make bank. These players had money to lose, which meant that given a Hail Mary option, they had even more that he could collect.

As manager of the casino, Brock drew a nice salary, the kind that would content most people, but he didn’t fit the category of “most people.” He donned his tailored suits every night and walked the club, greeting the high rollers by name and shaking hands with the
crème de la crème
that frequented the casino, spending exorbitant amounts of cash on both luck and entertainment. They created the backbone that kept the casino in business.

But the earpiece he wore had nothing to do with security and everything to do with the more lucrative income brought in by the Cobras. And he had just come up on a prime example of the type of customer he wanted. He came alive as he froze, watching the scene play out before him, and he crossed his arms, emulating the debonair James Bond character he strove to be when he worked the floor.

The man at the Blackjack table swiped at his forehead, sweating bullets as he pushed another large stack of chips forward. He didn’t go all in, but he didn’t have much left to work with. If he lost this hand, he’d likely have to leave the table and take the hit.

Based on the expensive cut of his Armani suit, and the gold cufflinks worth over a grand by Brock’s estimation, he had expensive taste and a bank account large enough to cater to it. But he’d gotten in over his head, and based on the way he twisted his hands in his lap, he likely had a wife at home who would kill him if he came back having lost half of their savings. Brock guessed he’d come to Vegas for some convention or other and shouldn’t have stepped foot on the casino floor in the first place.

Pressing the button on his earpiece, Brock said quietly, “I need a reading on Mr. Armani sweating it out at Blackjack table five. How far down is he?”

It didn’t take long to get a response from one of his scouts. “He’s about to hit a hundred grand in debt,” came a deep voice in his ear. Edgar. Turning slowly, Brock saw his man standing with his arms crossed as well, looking like a security guard, watching the table from about fifteen feet away. His jacket sleeves stretched tight over his bulging biceps, Edgar looked like a bouncer, and he intimidated people without even trying. He proved one of the best assets Brock had working here on a regular basis.

If he seemed overbearing now, these people who surrounded themselves with glitz and glamor should see him in his leathers.

Nodding to Edgar, he pressed the button and said, “Let’s take him back for a conversation. I want a name, address, bank information, family history, blood type, the works, by the time he gets to my office.” His request was typical, and they had the manpower and technology to get it fast. It was a necessity in their line of business. Any piece of information could lead to a confirmation of the contract, when used appropriately.

“You got it.” Edgar moved quickly toward the table, arriving just as the guy nearly lost a cufflink, slamming his palm into the table as the dealer took his bet. Seeing the devastation on his face as Edgar led him away, Brock rushed to his office. This would be a good one, he knew.

Most of the time, their targets assumed they were being led out of the casino and banned from returning. Some of the establishments around here did that to avoid bad publicity, outburst, and the stigma of patrons who gambled away every last cent and went home destitute, unable to pay their bills. That wasn’t the objective here. Brock and his club had found a way to capitalize on the losses, benefiting everyone involved.

Halfway down the corridor that led to Brock’s office, his earpiece sounded again. This time, it was Don, his best researcher. It didn’t matter how deep someone buried their information – current or past. Don could find it. That came in handy if they suspected someone of trying to play them for fools, or if they felt threatened by a cop or reporter trying to expose their less-obvious business practices.

“Your man is Charles Banks, 43, married to Lydia with two children, Charles Jr., five, and Lyla, ten. Investment banker. His wife inherited a bankroll, and his investment knowledge gives them fat stacks. He’s here for a business summit and between Blackjack and Craps, he’s down about two-fifty.”

That was better than Brock first thought, and he smiled as he entered his office. That much money equaled college savings for his kids, and Lydia, the wife who inherited the money in the first place, would not find it amusing. But in about half an hour, Brock could have a solution that would generate additional income for the Cobras over the next several months and save Mr. Banks the trouble of explaining what happened to his wife.

Edgar knocked before entering, and Brock sat forward, folding his hands on his desk and putting on a businesslike expression. He didn’t like the typecast of the typical person in his position – a greasy man in a dark room at a table under a spotlight, smoking a cigar with a gun next to one hand and stacks of cash beside the other. He wanted to present himself more like a banker, and that would be especially important in dealing with a man who banked for a living.

Brock had a split second to chuckle silently at the irony of a man named Banks being a banker. The only thing worse would have been if Charles Banks were a poor man.

The man entered nervously, and Edgar shut the door, standing behind the chair Brock indicated for Mr. Banks to take. After a moment taken to assess the man’s overall mood and state of mind, Brock took charge of the conversation. “Charles, my name is Brock Carson. You’ve probably seen me on the floor tonight. I’m the casino manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Flustered, the man’s words rushed out so fast Brock could barely keep up. “I’m so sorry for my outburst. I can explain. I…”

Brock held up a hand to stop him. He heard this a lot and didn’t want to waste time listening to profuse apologies once again. “No one here cares about your outburst. It didn’t upset other patrons in my casino, so let’s move on. I wish we could meet under better circumstances, but hopefully, I can brighten your evening. I understand you’ve had some trouble with winning tonight, and I’d like to see if there is something I can do to help you.”

He grew still, and his entire demeanor changed. Instead of remaining the meek, nervous man, he stuck out his chest in a show of pride and, if Brock was any judge of character, defiance. “I’m not worried about it. I’m not poor, Mr. Carson, and even though a big loss is still a painful loss, it won’t impact my life.”

Brock raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain about that, Mr. Banks? I’d hate for you to return home to your wife and have to explain this, especially since I doubt she would approve of you gambling in the first place.”

He flushed, and Brock didn’t know whether anger or embarrassment caused the red coloring. Either way, he’d hit the nail on the head. “I know I can win it back before I go.” But his voice quivered, and Brock knew he wouldn’t need to work hard to convince the man to accept the offer.

Quiet for a moment as he let the possibility of taking that risk and losing more sink in with Charles, Brock finally told him, “I have a proposition that might interest you, Mr. Banks. And it’s much less risky than attempting to win the money back and potentially doubling your losses. I’ll clear your debt to the casino with a loan, deposited directly into the account of your choice so that it appears it was never withdrawn in the first place. The terms are simple. You pay it back in equal payments over the next twelve months, with interest, of course. The only caveat is that you may not play here for the rest of your stay.”

Charles Banks narrowed his eyes. “What are you, some kind of loan shark?”

Brock smiled and shook his head. “No, sir. I’m a man of business, and good business involves making money, as I’m sure you know. I’m offering you a chance to escape judgment and the cold shoulder, to pretend this never happened. I’m sure you’ll find it much easier to cover the smaller losses over the next few months. And for the record, I’m not banning you forever. In fact, as long as payments are made on time every month, you can come back and play again at any time. You simply have to leave now.”

“And what’s the interest rate?”

“Twenty-five percent, compound. There is no penalty for paying off the debt early. The sooner the debt is paid, the less you pay back.” Another knock sounded, and Connor stepped inside, handing a stack of papers to Brock and then turning to leave. He held up the papers for Charles Banks to see. “This is the contract that states equal payments of $26,683 over the next twelve months will sufficiently pay back what I’m loaning you. All you have to do is sign the last page and date it.”

“That’s highway robbery!” the man protested, jumping to his feet. He moved toward the door.

“Actually, it’s the best offer you can get, and it saves you a lot of heartache. I’d hate to think of you telling your wife that you gambled away a significant amount of the money that should be set aside for your kids’ college funds. And with your proficiency at making money, the monthly price should be more than fair. You can simply blame it on a poor choice of investments, if your wife even notices the difference at all. Is that not preferable to telling her about the mistake you made here?” Brock had him on the hook, and he wouldn’t give up until Charles Banks autographed the contract. Brock was good at what he did, and he rarely took no for an answer.

He wouldn’t take it from Charles Banks. The man didn’t want to turn down the offer. He simply had too much pride and didn’t want to admit defeat.

“And you’re telling me that if I pay it off early, I don’t pay the additional interest?” Brock had bagged this one. No one asked questions unless they planned to sign. He nodded, and Charles Banks sat down. “Can I read the contract?”

Brock offered it to him. “Sure. But you’ll find it’s pretty standard.” He waited as the man pretended to peruse it, scanning each page.

Finally, Banks held out a hand. “Do you have a pen?”

Brock handed one over, trying to hide a smirk of triumph. As the man signed, he said, “You do know that missing a payment or being late or short will have serious consequences, the least of which would be taking the entire sum of the loan plus the interest from your bank account.”

Banks waved it off. “I get it. You’ll get your money.” Brock never failed to find amusement in the way these customers could sound so irritated and so grateful at the same time. Charles’ gruff tone expressed his distaste for accepting help while reluctantly showing Brock a modicum of relief at having resolved the situation before he caught hell at home.

Standing, Brock shook his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Banks. Your bank account will be restored within twenty-four hours in a way that simply looks like a bank error. Thank you for your business, and enjoy the rest of your stay in Vegas. Edgar, escort him out, please.” Edgar would provide him with payment information. The Cobras had a discreet business account that allowed their borrowers to make payments to an entity that didn’t raise eyebrows.

Brock’s job was done, and he would bask in the glory of an easy sell for a few minutes before he went scouting for more blood, sweat, and tears to cure. If things kept going this way, it would turn into a very lucrative night.

Chapter 2

Sitting at the opulent bar under the brilliant golden lights, Tanya Fowler had a clear view of a number of tables in the busy casino. As she watched, she tried to pick out what exactly set off the alarms ringing in her head. She hadn’t seen anything overt, but then, according to the reports she’d had to read before making this trip, the approach had always come under the radar. She knew she wouldn’t find her target this easily, but she at least had a grasp of the setup and the lay of the land.

It was time to make her move.

Leaving a twenty on the black marble bar threaded with glittering gold threads with a wink at the bartender, she stood and tugged at the hem of the short, form-fitted silver dress that hugged every curve of her body. Coming from a rural town in Texas with more ranches than retail stores, she typically didn’t wear anything like this, and she felt as uncomfortable and vulnerable as if she stood there naked as a jaybird.

She had maybe two dresses in her entire personal wardrobe and had gone shopping for this particular assignment. She preferred simple jeans with a fitted t-shirt or maybe a blouse on dressy occasions, and sneakers or boots versus the strappy heels she wore now. Even her dark blond hair, tucked up in a bun, felt too tight compared to a bouncy ponytail or the locks falling around her shoulders to the middle of her back.

But she had to fit the image of her role, and as she strode with a confidence that didn’t quite reach her deep down,toward the Roulette wheel, stopping only to buy her chips, Tanya took a deep breath and told herself it would pay in the end. She shouldered her way in through a dense crowd of onlookers and set her chip carrier on the ledge in front of her, watching as three or four people put a thousand or two thousand on a number. She knew how the game worked; it was the only game in the casino that had nothing to do with skill and everything to do with sheer luck.

And it was the easiest way to go broke fast.

It required special chips used only at this table to buy into the game, and she switched them out while she waited for the current ball to find its mark. She gave the banker a winning smile, looking at the new chips like Monopoly money. If she thought of them as representing the $250,000 she’d just handed over, she would never convince herself to use it the way she needed to. She’d never held this kind of money in her hand before, and the idea of blowing it on a game with the worst odds in the entire casino seemed like such a waste. But again, it had to be done if she intended to get to the bottom of the allegations.

A roar of disappointment went up around her as all parties lost their bets, and before the next run, she doled out thirty grand and placed the marker she’d been given on Red 7. “Are you nuts?” a lady next to her laughed. “You have to bet small here if you want any chance of survival. And never bet straight up.” As if to prove her point, she put five hundred on the line between Black 10 and Red 5.

Tanya just grinned at her and wrinkled her nose, exaggerating her southern accent as she responded. “I’m feeling lucky tonight, and seven is my lucky number. I think I’ll stick with it, but bless your heart for warning me.” Out came the ball, and Tanya shouted her pleas to the gods of luck right along with the others, only she wished to lose. In the end, the authorities would recover their money or write it off when they shut down the loan shark operation she’d come to expose.

“Red 14,” the operator shouted, and while everyone else expressed good natured disappointment, Tanya had to curb her enthusiasm. Again, she put thirty grand forward marking Red 7. The same woman looked at her like she had a peacock growing out of her nose.

“I wouldn’t bet the same number twice. It’s bad luck.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” Tanya said. “Law of probability, sweetheart. If you play the same number every time, it’s eventually gonna hit big. There’s no real strategy to this game, but it’s the best I’ve got when it comes to common sense and reasoning.”

The woman considered it for a moment and then bet again on the same line, upping her ante to six hundred. Her nervous energy filled the air, and it almost made her laugh. But she had other things on her mind that were far more important.

Tanya didn’t focus on the game this time – she gazed around her, looking for someone watching her spend the money. Three different victims told the same story with almost no variance to the overall circumstances – after losing big, a guard approached them like they were being escorted out of the casino. Instead, they were taken to an office, presented with an offer for a loan to cover their losses. The amount could be repaid at a high interest rate over twelve or eighteen months, depending on the amount lent, and then the man making the offer coerced them into signing a contract by reminding them of the consequences they faced if they didn’t cover their mistakes – marital distress, difficulty paying bills, and the like. The people offering the quick fix knew everything about their lives as if they’d researched them in depths, running credit and background checks. They convinced the borrower to sign quickly, without even reading the full disclosure. They were also told they couldn’t come back into this casino for the remainder of their stay in Vegas.

And on the way out, they got a warning about consequences of not paying on time.

But try as she might, Tanya couldn’t identify a stalker. Apparently, she hadn’t spent enough yet to garner attention from the vultures who would take her back to the office. “Black 29!” She turned to look…it missed Red 7 by one. Her heart pounded, though she couldn’t decide if it was caused by having landed so close that she nearly went the opposite direction she wanted or because she’d actually almost been so lucky.

That was sixty gone; this time, she shoved seventy grand forward and bet on the same number. That added up to more than half her original buy, and she held her breath as the ball tumbled around again. Her forehead felt damp with sweat, and her palms were clammy. If all players felt like this, she couldn’t understand how anyone ever got hooked. She couldn’t handle the stress. She’d probably have a heart attack before an hour passed.

Now, with a quick glance up, she noted a rather large man in a suit watching the table, eyeing all the dwindling stacks of chips, and she had the impression he focused mostly on hers. The suit looked wrong on him; he had the build of a bouncer more likely found in a rowdy bar, his sleeves pulled tight against his muscles. He stood still as a statue, and that was an intimidating image, no matter who you were. With that standing over her, she probably wouldn’t turn down a loan, either.

Tanya bit her lip as the ball came to rest, bouncing between a couple of numbers and finally settling. “Black 10!” The woman next to her squealed and took her meager winnings. The payout was far smaller than if she’d bet straight up, but apparently it didn’t matter. Her excitement exploded, and several others celebrated with her like she’d hit the jackpot.

“Congratulations,” Tanya told her as she gathered her chips and left happily.
Here we go,
she thought, and despite her better judgment, she pushed the remaining chips forward and placed her marker on Red 7.

“Big money on the table!” the operator called out. “Ma’am, are you sure you want to bet $120,000?” he asked quietly. Maybe he thought she didn’t know what the chips were worth.

She nodded adamantly, her nervousness no longer fake. “I’m sure.” He gave her a sympathetic look, as if he thought she was a few cards short of a deck, but she squared her shoulders and held her head high. She didn’t need doubt or sympathy. She needed to lose everything, and she knew when that money disappeared, she would feel nauseated. She could do so much with a quarter million dollars!

The wheel spun, and the ball rolled, and Tanya folded her arms tight over her chest. If this didn’t get someone’s attention, she’d have to dip into the reserve. She’d been authorized to lose up to half a million, but she’d set her own limit at half that, unable to consider the impact on her own soul at throwing away so much cash. She thought it would be enough to carelessly toss out what she’d cashed a few minutes ago, but she was already there, and she’d seen no action. Had she given herself away?

She couldn’t think of anything about her look or actions that would let on who she really was. And while the people who ran this loan shark business obviously had resources to dig into people’s lives, they wouldn’t find anything detrimental on her, no matter how hard they looked. She was free and clear. There was no way she’d been discovered already. She felt confident about that.

The ping of the ball landing caught her attention a fraction of a second before she heard the dealer call out, “Red 7! Big winner!”

Tanya’s jaw dropped. That was impossible. The chance of winning straight up at Roulette was almost nil. And winning so quickly? Absolutely astronomical. But the roar of enthusiasm around her told her she hadn’t heard wrong. So did the money she’d won.

Looking at the stacks coming her way, she quickly calculated the 35 to 1 payout. She just won 42 million dollars! Her jaw went slack as the dealer paid out the winnings, and for just a moment, the edges of her vision blackened as if she might pass out. But she recovered her consciousness quickly, and she glanced up to see the guy who’d been watching her speaking into his earpiece. Even from this distance, she could tell he was talking fast, and he made no attempt to hide that he stared straight at her.

Before she could even process what just happened and figured out how to explain it to her superiors, a man in a perfectly tailored suit who must have materialized from thin air stood next to her, giving her a devastating smile. As if she didn’t already have enough to deal with, he took her breath away.

His dark hair was slicked back and hung just a little too long, brushing his collar.He had deep blue eyes that reminded her of the Atlantic Ocean the one time she’d visited the beach in South Carolina, and they shone with amusement. He had a five o’clock shadow that accented the slight dimple in his right cheek and the handsome planes and angles of his very masculine face.

“Congratulations, ma’am. I believe you’re our biggest winner of the evening,” he said.

Tanya stuttered. “Uh, thank you. I mean, yes. I…” She trailed off, her cheeks heating. What was wrong with her?
You just won millions that doesn’t even belong to you, and you’re staring at a gorgeous man, that’s what,
she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath to try and settle her nerves, Tanya racked her brain for what she was supposed to do now.

Think rationally,
she told herself. She’d come here to do a job, and to successfully complete her mission, she had to find a way to get an offer for a loan. Winning like this didn’t get her anywhere, and she had too much money to lose it all again. Even trying would call too much attention to her and raise too many questions. She had probably just screwed herself entirely.

“I’m Brock Carson,” he said, holding out a hand in greeting. She lifted hers, and he kissed the back of her knuckles.

Finding her voice, she asked, “Are you some sort of genie? I mean, we’re packed in tight, and you just appeared, not even breaking a sweat.”

He smirked. “Well, in a way, I guess I grant wishes, but I don’t work that brand of magic.” He gestured around them with a broad sweep of his arm. “This is my casino, and I’d like to offer you drinks on the house for the rest of the evening, as well as a VIP suite in our hotel, free of charge, for the extent of your stay in Vegas.”

She realized her mouth hung open – again – and snapped it shut so fast her teeth clicked. She winced at the jarring effect it had on her head, which was already spinning, and she narrowly escaped a headache.

So, this was how high rollers were treated, the big winners. But her goal was to determine what happened to the big losers. What was their fate? She’d have to find another way to infiltrate the ring, she supposed. She smiled graciously, wondering if she could find the source of the corruption by cooperating with Brock Carson. This man could be the key, potentially the leader of the entire operation.

She rolled back through the few names in the reports, but she didn’t remember seeing Brock Carson. Why was that? If casino and hotel employees were involved in this, the manager would be a prime suspect. And maybe she’d simply missed it. She should have paid more attention to those details rather than skimming over the names, confident her keen observation skills would be enough to break the case.

“Tanya Fowler,” she told him. She’d chosen to use her real name, since it fit the role, and her agency had carefully constructed a history based on that role for temporary use under that name. All her own personal information had been erased, backed up on a single internal hard drive unattached to the mainframe. Instead, the made up history read like a character bio for a novel or movie, and she knew it backward and forward.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fowler. Tell me, what would you like to drink?”

She didn’t want to drink on the job. She’d already had one vodka tonic, and while the chain of events made her grateful she’d chosen to have it, that one mixed drink was enough for the night. “I’m not a big drinker. I’d like to stick to Diet Coke, if you don’t mind.”

He chuckled and held his hand high in the air, above the crowd surrounding them, all of whom seemed to be vying to get close to her. A waiter in a white coat with tails and a red bowtie came forward. “Two Diet Cokes, please. We’ll meet you outside the crowd.”