Unlucky (11 page)

Jake's voice caught a bit. "I sure hope so."

"And I know so. You better get back to catching those men that I'm never going to become thanks to you."

Jake felt his pride in the young man swell even more. "You got it."

"And Jake--be careful. I'd like to have you around when I get that diploma."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else."

He pressed the "end" button and scrolled down to the number he'd been putting off for the last few days. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind into a calm, collected state.

"Jones--it's Randoll," he said as his captain answered.

"Is it safe for you to talk?" Jones asked.

Jake looked out across the miles of open water. "Unless you're worried about the fish overhearing, it's as safe as cell phones get."

Apparently satisfied, his captain launched into his Q&A routine. "Is everything in place? Did you pull Silas's table? Is the bastard there? Why the hell haven't you checked in before now?"

Jake took a deep breath, forming answers to the onslaught of questions, his hope of finishing this phone call in time to grab some lunch evaporating in an instant. "I got the dealer slot at Silas's table, and yes, the bastard is most certainly here. Smug as ever. And I haven't checked in before now because I wasn't sure about player placement and there hasn't been a way to call without being overheard since the tournament started."

"Did you get the money scanner past the metal detectors?"

"Yes, sir. Security thought it was a regular laptop, just like I thought they would. I'll keep it in my locker. Testing the money in the dressing area shouldn't be a problem. No one's in that room except for first thing in the morning and right before we leave."

There was a pause on the other end and Jake knew his boss's mind was whirling with every possible scenario this sting could take on--both good and bad.

"Why do I get the idea you're not telling me everything?" his captain finally said. "Your voice is strained."

Damn it. The man could pick up tension in a corpse.

"There's nothing here I can't handle, sir," Jake said.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," his captain shot back. "What's the problem?"

"There is no problem. Merely a small inconvenience, and I'm handling it."

"What inconvenience?" his captain asked, not about to let it go.

Jake gritted his teeth, knowing he was about to have the very discussion he'd been hoping to avoid. "St. Claire's niece is the attendant at my table so I have to be extra careful with my actions. And before you ask, there's no getting rid of her. St. Claire detests Silas and doesn't want him to win a dime. St. Claire put her at my table specifically to shut down Silas. This niece and St. Claire both have some nutbag idea that she can cool cards."

"Can she?"

Jake paused for a moment, not even sure how to reply. "Sir, you're not serious. There is no paranormal ability to cool cards that I've ever heard of in my life."

"I didn't ask if you'd heard of it. I asked if she could do it. How many hands have you won so far?"

"All but one," Jake mumbled. Not
counting the three I threw
.

"What? I can't hear you. You're cutting out."

"All but one," Jake shouted.

"And you think that's normal?" his captain asked. "I don't care if she's clouding his judgment with perfume or goosing him under the table. Results are everything and sounds to me like she's getting results."

Jake shook his head in disbelief. "Sir, she's not getting anything but rounds of drinks. You can't possibly buy into , this bullshit."

"I didn't say I was buying into anything, except the fact that whatever she's doing is apparently working. The key to success here is figuring out how to turn everything to your benefit."

"As far as she's concerned, I'm already benefiting," Jake said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "If Silas doesn't win a hand or two soon, he will guess the fix is on and leave before I can get an exchange. Even if I were going to believe that this woman has some kind of supernatural ability, she's not helping me at all."

"Well, then I suggest you start by getting on this niece's good side. Treat her with that can't-be-bothered attitude you take toward most women and you're likely to create a problem you can't fix. I don't think I have to remind you what's riding on this. Or that this is our last chance."

Jake clenched the balcony railing with one hand and stared out over the glistening water. "No, you don't have to remind me."

"If you were any other single agent, I'd tell you to romance her, but you take avoiding women to new heights. So I suggest you start with being friendly. And don't tell me you can't. I know your mother, and I'm certain she raised you with manners or you wouldn't have seen adulthood."

"Yes, sir," Jake said, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be friendly to a woman that frustrated him with her odd beliefs as much as she stirred other feelings in him that he'd shut down long ago. It wasn't possible. Keeping Mallory Devereaux at a distance was the only way this was going to work for him. Just the fleeting thought of having her closer to him had his mind swimming, unorganized, unfocused, and that was something he couldn't afford regardless of his captain's advice.

"One more thing, Jake," his captain said. "That hand you lost--was the niece at the table then?"

The line went dead, and Jake flipped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He leaned over the railing again, letting the cool Gulf air blow across his face. It didn't mean anything that she wasn't at the table.

Not a thing.

It was about ten minutes before play would start again, and Jake stood at his table, removing cards from the shoe and shuffling them, his boss's words still ringing in his ears. He was just trying to make up his mind how to approach the afternoon of play--and Mallory Devereaux--when the object of his thoughts stepped into the casino and headed for his table, her full hips swinging as she walked.

"Hi there," she said as she stepped up to the table.

Was it possible that her top was lower cut now than it had been this morning?

Jake held back a frown and managed an unenthusiastic "hello." Being friendly to Mallory Devereaux just wasn't going to be possible--not without his train of thought wandering to things best left alone.

Her smile faltered a little at his weak greeting, but she pointed at the stack of chips in front of him, by far the largest stack on the table, and tried again. "It was a great morning, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Jake muttered. "It was a fantastic morning." If
you consider that Silas Hebert thinks I'm cheating and is probably planning to cash in his chips and leave
.

Mallory frowned at his sarcasm. "Surely you weren't expecting to take them all the first day? That would take a miracle. I'm good, but I don't do miracles."

Jake stared at her a moment, an idea forming in the back of his mind. Sure, the whole card cooling thing was bullshit, but what would it hurt to test it out? "Then maybe you should talk to your friend, the drunken priest. Anything he could work up would make as much difference as you do."

Mallory's face flushed with anger. "You still don't believe, do you? Even after almost every hand this morning went your way. Even though some of the hands you pulled on the draw go against the laws of nature."

Jake shrugged, knowing it would only goad her more. "Whatever you say."

Mallory threw her hands up in exasperation. "You don't honestly think you're
that
good of a player, do you?"

Jake stared at her for a moment, then held out one arm. "Prove it."

"What?" Mallory looked down at his bare arm. "Are you insane?"

Jake laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, my sanity is not the issue here. Your touch is supposed to bring doom and gloom, so prove it."

Mallory shook her head. "No way. My job is to shut down this table. I can't do that with you losing."

"You say I will lose. I say it won't make a bit of difference." He looked her straight in the eyes, challenging her. "So assuming you're right, what's the worst that can happen? I lose a few hands before you switch things back the other way? What's the big deal? Unless of course, you're lying."

Mallory bit her lower lip, the indecision on her face clear as day. He knew she wanted to prove him wrong and by God, for the first time since the tournament started, he hoped she could. If only she'd touch him. Just one tiny touch. Enough to keep Silas around for another day.

"Okay," she finally agreed. "But only with one finger and just for a second. Less. Less than a second."

Jake nodded. "Whatever you say."

She stepped toward him, studying his bare arm like he might be an incendiary device. Hesitantly, she reached over with her index finger and barely brushed it over the top of his wrist.

Jake felt a tingle where her finger grazed his skin and his heart began to beat a bit faster, making him wonder if this had been such a good idea after all.

No sooner had she made contact with his skin, she yanked her hand back, almost as if burned, and looked over at him, a frightened expression on her face. She really believed. The thought struck him hard even though she'd maintained her position from the beginning.

He held his arm up in front of her. "See. It's fine. No sprain, no rash. It's not going to make a difference. You're worrying for nothing."

Apparently tired of being ridiculed, Mallory shook her head. "We'll just see about that."

Before Jake could formulate a comeback to her cryptic response, the players began to arrive, and Mallory pulled out her pad to start the afternoon drink orders. When they were all seated, Mallory scanned the room and sighed. Where the hell was Father Thomas?

"I'll find him," she assured Jake.

"He's got twenty minutes to get back to the table or he forfeits half his chips to the house--your uncle's rules." Jake gave her a brief nod and turned back to the other players. "What do you say we go ahead and start? Maybe we can get in at least one hand without the Old Testament involved."

Mallory shoved the pad into her pocket and headed across the casino, hoping Father Thomas wasn't far from the liquor cabinet.

She'd been searching for the wayward priest for almost ten minutes when she finally got a lead from one of the dishwashers. "I saw him walk out the back doors onto the deck," the man said.

Good God. She hurried to the double doors at the rear of the restaurant, hoping Father Thomas hadn't pitched off into the Gulf. Pushing the doors open, she stepped outside and scanned the deck for the priest.

He was hard to miss.

Father Thomas stood on top of a lawn chair, both arms fully extended above him, one hand clutching a Bible. "Seek first a glass of Jack Daniel's and its righteousness, and if you can't find one then seek a bottle of beer."

Mallory looked around, but there was no one to be found. Either Father Thomas was hallucinating or he thought the fish needed praying over or a drink. "Father Thomas," she said. "The game is starting. You need to get inside."

Father Thomas turned to face her and pitched backward off the lawn chair, his robes floating around him like a warped version of Batman. He hit the deck with a thud and Mallory hoped to hell he hadn't broken something or killed himself. She hurried over to the priest and bent down to see if he was alive.