Scout's Honor (11 page)

Nick handled the decks last and stacked them
next to the dealer. Anna knew he was trying to position the juice.
Tonight’s familiar feeling of defeat edged into her mind. If that
was the extent of Nick’s plan it was going to be a long night. The
only right thing so far was Dumonde’s not catching the juice.

It was eight o’clock. Anna smiled her last
smile of the evening. It was time for business. “The game is
seven-card stud,” she said. “No limits.” She glanced around the
table as she spoke, and noted Mawson flinch at the betting. She
dismissed him for the rest of the night. He hadn’t come to win,
only not to lose.

Frank took the top deck and started to
shuffle. He was smooth and experienced without being flashy. He
passed the deck to Nick, on his right, and he cut it. The hole
cards glided across the table. He called the third card. “Jack . .
. trey . . . ten . . . a queen for the lady . . . deuce. Queen bets
.

By midnight Anna was ahead. Most of her
winnings came from Albert Mawson, who had dropped out after the
last hand. Nick was even, Carlton was down, and Dumonde had taken a
chunk out of everyone. Frank dealt the sixth card.

“Pair of tens bets.”

Carlton was into his second pack of
cigarettes, and took the time to light another before betting his
hand. “Tens bet five thousand.”

Anna figured he had a concealed ten, but she
doubted if he had two. He’d been losing on his bluffs all night.
She held a concealed pair of jacks, with another one up, and it was
worth stringing him along.

“Five thousand and raise another two.” She
counted off the bills and threw them into the pot.

Nick had dropped after the fourth card, so
the bet passed to Dumonde, who showed a pair of nines, ace high. He
doubled the bet.

He must have paired the ace or better, Anna
thought. Knowing Dumonde, probably better. Carlton stayed in. Anna
didn’t hesitate to meet the bet.

Seventh card down. Fourth jack to Anna. Not
a flicker of emotion was in her eyes as she dropped the corner of
the card.

A smile twisted Carlton’s lips as he
clenched his cigarette between his teeth. “Tens bet ten grand.” He
almost laughed out loud.

Anna gave him a cool look and counted out
ten thousand dollars. “And I raise it another ten.” She could
afford the action; she was playing with Mawson’s money. Next hand
she’d be playing with Carlton’s.

“The bet’s at twenty thousand.” Frank nodded
to Dumonde.

She could almost hear Dumonde’s mind
clicking as he glanced over the cards showing on the table. He met
each of their eyes in turn with his empty gaze as he folded his
cards.

Carlton threw in his ten thousand and
called. “Read ’em and weep.” He chuckled, flipping over four tens
and the ace of hearts. He automatically reached for the pot.

His hands hadn’t even descended on the money
before Dumonde grabbed his arm. “We haven’t heard from the lady
yet,” he said quietly
.

Carlton blanched, and Anna could tell from
the whitening of his face how tightly Dumonde was gripping him. It
was a bad turn for the game to take, but Carlton was in the
wrong.

Then suddenly Mitch was stepping between her
and Carlton. He gave her a broad wink and casually leaned over to
pick up her glass.

Turning his attention to the others, he
asked, “Anybody else for a fresh drink?”

Anna wanted to kiss him for so easily
defusing the tension.

“Uh . . . sure,” Carlton said, backing down
as Dumonde released his arm. “A double Scotch.”

“A good hand, Mr. Carlton,” Anna said, “but
not good enough.” She turned over her four jacks, and waited a
moment before methodically stacking the bills piled in the middle
of the table.

Anger seeped out of the big man’s pores, and
he swore viciously. In a violent action he ripped his cards in half
and threw them on the floor.

“Dammit! I want a new deck,” he demanded in
a harsh voice, daring anyone to countermand him.

“Yes, sir,” Frank said immediately, adding a
much-needed note of civility. In one deft swoop he cleaned the
offending cards off the table, tearing them before throwing them
away.

Mitch returned with Anna’s tonic and lime
while Lara served the men. Anna barely noticed him. Her attention
was focused on Frank as he picked the new deck. Juice. They were
in.

Her heart speeded up. Nick had seen it too.
Fortunately their quick interchange was missed by Dumonde. He was
momentarily distracted by Lara’s flirting as she leaned over him to
set his wine on the table. They couldn’t have planned it better if
they’d tried.

Anna had been cool since the start of the
game, but now her palms were dampening. The gentle wind that had
been blowing all night had died, and Carlton’s cigarette smoke had
started settling around the table like a shroud. She watched the
shuffle, uncomfortably aware of how easily she was reading the
cards. It was as if they were all face up. Tension, smoke, and bad
feelings were taking their toll, and she had to force herself to
calm down, fighting the urge to get it over with and move out of
there.

She was enough cash ahead that she played
the first few hands without deliberately using her advantage, but
it was impossible to ignore the marks completely. Dumonde hadn’t
won enough to be satisfied, and she was surprised at his lack of
card maneuvering now that she could see his hole cards. To throw
him off-guard, she let him take a big pot. They were both biding
their time.

One
A.M.
Lines of
strain were showing on Carlton’s face and sweat was running into
the creases of his cheeks. Anna didn’t have a hair out of place.
Her eyes were clear, her movements sharp and clean. Dumonde was
equally at ease.

Finally the time came for her to make her
move. Fifth card down she was high with three nines. Carlton and
Dumonde at most were holding two pair each. What they didn’t know
was that half the cards they needed were concealed by one of the
other players. Cheating definitely took some of the fun and most of
the psychology out of the game. But she wasn’t here for fun.

“Nines bet fifteen thousand, she said, her
voice cool and calm. The pot was pushing a hundred grand. She
needed a large bet to make her move on, and she knew both Dumonde
and Carlton would stay in. Dumonde was working a possible flush
with his pairs and Carlton was playing desperately, trying to
recoup his losses.

Sixth card. The men’s cards didn’t pair up.
She was still high, and now working her own possible flush. In an
attempt to get Carlton
out of
the hand, she doubled her previous bet. “Nines bet thirty
thousand.”

Dumonde met her money, and while they waited
for Carlton’s
decision
Anna caught his eye. She lifted one winged brow and smiled.
“Monsieur? Would you like to make this more interesting?”

Dumonde actually smiled back, chuckling from
deep in his throat. “
Oui
, mademoiselle. What did you have in
mind?”

“A vacation somewhere—maybe Colorado.”

In answer, he reached inside his jacket and
pulled out the folded deed. He dropped it casually on the table, to
the side of the main pot. “A lovely place, Colorado. Do you have
something to match?”

“
Oui
, monsieur.” She extended her
hand behind her, and Mitch gave her his deed. It was his last
chance to back out, but he put it in her hand without hesitating.
Good luck, scout, she thought as she placed it on the table.

Dumonde’s possible flush had died with the
sixth card. Only one card could save his hand, the jack of
diamonds. With Dumonde sitting to the left of the dealer, his
chance for a full house would disappear with the first card, a four
of clubs.

Carlton had been watching the byplay with
growing irritation, his jaw working his cigarette to a pulp. He
grabbed his glass with a meaty fist and tossed the Scotch down in
one gulp.

“I’m still in this game,” he snapped,
throwing his money on the table.

Anna wished she could leave after this hand.
Her instincts were telling her the game was going to get a lot
nastier before Carlton gave up, but a winner couldn’t walk away.
She lowered her eyes and took a sip of her tonic. It was proving to
be a long night.

If Nick had stayed in and been able to win
the hand, Carlton would have been less resentful. Losing to another
loser didn’t taste quite as bad. As it was, only she and Dumonde
were left to feel the heat of his anger, the two who had taken him
for close to a hundred grand already.

Frank dealt the seventh cards, face down.
Four of clubs to Dumonde . . . five of spades to Carlton . . .
queen of hearts to Anna. She kept her face expressionless as a
cascade of relief washed through her. Playing the game, she lifted
a corner of the queen.

“Nines bet twenty thousand,” she said.

Dumonde answered with twenty thousand of his
own. Then he paused for an instant before meeting her eyes and
dropping another ten grand in the pot. His hand moved over his
cards as he put the bills on the table. The movement was
natural—the cards were in front of him and the pot was in the
middle of the table—but Anna instantly sensed disaster.

She couldn’t stop her eyes from widening,
her breath from catching, or her stomach from twisting in a
gut-wrenching cramp. The son of a bitch had done it to her. Under
different circumstances she might have been impressed, even awed,
by his smoothness. But all she felt now was fury. Anguish clouded
her eyes as she stared at the jack of diamonds now held in his
hand. The four of clubs was nowhere in sight.

Dumonde caught her reaction, and confusion
momentarily wrinkled his brow. Then realization dawned. She
couldn’t have known what he’d done unless she’d marked the deck,
unless she was cheating. He immediately checked his cards but
obviously saw nothing. Anger hardened the lines of his face, but
only for a second. Then he laughed, low and satisfied.
“
Touché
, mademoiselle.” His accent turned the insult into a
caress. She wasn’t any better than he.

Anna knew she’d exposed herself and wished
with all of her might that she could control the starkness of her
emotions, hide behind a wall of ice. She couldn’t. Her heart broke
with rage and desolation, and it was all she could do to keep from
turning to Mitch.

Everyone was watching her. Mitch with
wariness and bewilderment. Nick with a hint of warning. Frank with
puzzlement. And Dumonde with smug complacency. No one was watching
Carlton. . . until it was too late.

“Nobody move,” he said with a growl. “This
pot’s mine.” He shoved himself away from the table and pulled a
derringer. “Albert, come over here and get this cash.”

It was ridiculous, some detached part of
Anna’s mind realized, that huge man with a little, tiny gun. But
Anna wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even smiling. It was all she could
do to keep breathing.

The hulking Albert hot-footed
it over to the table,
shoving Nick and Frank out of his way to get to the money. Carlton
covered him from the other side. “I don’t know what kind of game
you’re dealing here, but nobody cheats Dan Carlton. Not no faggot
Frenchy”—he pointed the gun at Dumonde—and not no high-class
hooker.” He swung the gun around and aimed it at Anna’s heart.

Time froze. The black muzzle filled her
vision, sending a trickle of fear down her spine to her knees.

Anna calculated the odds. He wouldn’t shoot.
Her life was worth more than a hundred grand and a few acres of
smelly ranch. He couldn’t shoot.

Carlton gestured with the gun. “Back away
from the table.”

She felt Mitch’s arm encircle her waist as
she stood up. He pulled her to his side and eased in front of her.
Dumonde also rose, slowly, reaching for the deeds.

“I said back off, Frenchy,” Carlton
snapped.

Dumonde was a gambler, though. He picked up
the deeds, speaking quietly. “The side bet was between me and the
lady.”

“Take ’em and you’re a dead man.”

Dumonde must be slipping, Anna thought,
watching him hesitate. She was reading Carlton loud and clear. For
the first time tonight he was in control. His head was swelled with
the power granted by the gun, and he wasn’t about to relinquish it.
With a vicious backhand he knocked Dumonde against the windows.

During the split second Carlton was
distracted, Mitch made his move, following through on the arc of
Carlton’s arm. He threw his weight at the bigger man, shoving the
gun hand against the starboard window. The window smashed, and
shards of glass sprayed the floor, glistening with Carlton’s blood.
Carlton had a good fifty pounds on him, but Mitch was fast. Their
hands no sooner met than Mitch kneed him, sharp and swift.

With an enraged howl, the big man was jerked
by a spasm of pain to a crouch. Mitch reacted instantly, locking
his hands together and bringing them down hard on the back of
Carlton’s neck. The loser lost again, slumping to a heap on the
floor.

Nick and Frank had subdued Mawson, and
Jason, a crewman, raced across the deck, coming to the rescue a
moment too late. Lara screamed and burst into tears.

Anna was glued to the floor, silent and
shaking. The brutal violence left a bitter taste in her mouth and
knotted her insides with nausea. She watched Mitch with glazed eyes
as he walked toward her, shaking his right hand, the one that had
taken the brunt of his final blow.

“How are you doing, boss?” He smiled his
crooked grin, then studied her face as he sucked on the edge of his
palm. “I think I broke it,” he continued, shifting his gaze to his
hand. “Next time we do it your way—we hire professional muscle. I’m
not cut out for this.”

His eyes locked with hers again and his
smile faded. “You’re not doing too well, are you, boss?”