Betrayed by a Kiss (14 page)

“I’m good.” Dane caught Marnie’s gaze and winked. “I promise. I’m very good.” Then he smiled and sat at his assigned chair.

Marnie kept her expression clear and her eyes on the baize-topped table. “Thank you, David. Vodka tonic, twist of lime, please.” She trusted Dane, but she was still nervous. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as she silently listed the myriad ways that things could go south.

Ralph was watching her. Marnie smiled and positioned herself behind Dane. Showtime.

Chapter Twelve

Every eye seemed on Marnie as she nodded a greeting to the dealer. The woman was gorgeous—bleached blonde, blue eyed, in her forties. Marnie, along with everyone else here, knew the woman most likely had a gun strapped to the underside of the table. It kept tempers in check when money was lost and won.

There were five players seated tonight. Patrick’s wife, Serena, would have been the sixth, but illness and poker were not a good mix. They’d make do with five. Marnie knew another one of the players, a college kid. He wore headphones and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days. She’d long wondered if this was a tactic or simply bad hygiene. He was good, which was why they put up with it. She’d lost to him in the past.

The other player, a paunchy guy in black, was wearing sunglasses. He was new. Patrick acted as if he didn’t exist, so Marnie took the cue and ignored him. There’d be time enough to see what kind of player he was during the game.

Ralph shifted in his seat, getting into the zone. Six four, sedentary, 350 pounds, and pale as paste, Ralph was bald as a cue ball and sported a gold incisor. He would die at a poker table. He was on his third marriage, had two kids in college, and was her favorite person in the entire world. A surrogate father—an angry surrogate father. Guilt had her cringing inside. It was wonderful to see him, even if he looked grumpy. She wished he wasn’t playing this particular game. She wished she’d returned his phone call.

Ralph smiled at her, probably reading her thoughts. It didn’t take clairvoyance to read his. He was out to crush Dane, her proxy in the game. Teach her a lesson, lose her some money. Ralph believed in tough love.

He was sizing up MacLain, wondering if he were gold or dross, while she was using a considerable amount of energy to appear composed. Her feet hurt in the heels, heels she’d chosen thinking she’d be sitting at the table, not breathing down MacLain’s neck for three hours. Everyone eyed him, wondering who he was. With everyone dropping ten grand to buy into the game, five grand for David, a grand each split between the security and dealer, there was forty-three grand up for grabs. The way David did it, the top three walked away with something, leaving only two empty-handed at the end of the night. So even if MacLain won, the most they’d win would be thirty grand, and they needed every penny of it to cover her order with the supplier. When she had the idea to play this game, it had seemed a simple solution for ready cash. Now she wasn’t so sure.

David nodded to the dealer, indicating the game was starting. The chips were in place, and Patrick was left of the dealer, so he posted his blind. The pre-flop round commenced, and Marnie blocked out all thoughts of the target on their backs and what had to happen to destroy WE and get their lives back. Her world became Texas Hold’em.

…

Dane found himself counting the chips again, calculating how much cash they represented, so every time he bet, raised, or folded, he tallied the money won or lost. He knew that was stupid. Nothing was lost until the game was done. It was nerves, he supposed. A useless distraction he needed to beat if he were to play up to his potential. An hour into the gaming, his wins equaled his losses. It wasn’t bad, but he expected more from himself.

He was parched, and Marnie had yet to touch her vodka tonic, though the ice had long since melted. More than once he’d thought a stiff drink sounded good but didn’t want to take the chance it would make him lose focus.

It was his turn to bet the small blind. His cards sucked, and he would have folded if he’d had a choice, but instead he made use of his time to catalog tells. Headphones college kid liked to tap his right index finger three times just before he folded. Patrick shifted in his seat before he called. Sunglasses and Coke-bottle glasses hadn’t given up tells yet, but they seemed to have similar strategies—culling the weaker players from the game. And from their aggressive play, forcing folds, calling every hand quickly, Dane realized they thought
he
was a beginner. That was something he fully intended to exploit.

As the rounds racked up, he was dealt better cards. Twice already he’d turned a shit hand into a win. It propped up his confidence, reminding him more than once if he had a superpower, it was his luck at poker. His job was to keep loose and not think too much.

David had pulled up a stool for Marnie a while ago. A glance behind him revealed a long expanse of her sexy leg, which meant everyone in the room was seeing the same view. He almost told her to cover up but realized she was behind him. He could look away, but his opponents didn’t have that luxury. Let them gawk, he thought. It was enough to know she was going home with him.

The thought had him smiling, and everyone at the table tensed up, as if he was revealing a tell. Let them think he had good cards.

Sunglasses guy hadn’t said a word all night other than snapping out his plays. He reminded Dane of a Blues Brother, without the fedora. All he did was bet, call, raise, fold, check, but he had the interesting tell of bluffing almost exclusively when he had nothing to lose. Unlike the games Dane was used to, there was no smack talk going on around this table. Nothing was said that wasn’t necessary.

Dane caught headphones college kid peeking at Marnie’s chest, midplay. The kid was decent, though clearly not the one to beat. Patrick, jovial at the door, was a dour player. He’d been drawing good cards. Sunglasses guy was better. Coke-bottle glasses on the end of the table showed serious skills. There were silent communications going on with him and Marnie. He’d have to ask for the backstory later.

Once the blinds bet, everyone else put their bets in. Patrick raised, and everyone matched but headphones college kid. He folded, out of chips. Everyone waited while he nodded to the players, shook David’s hand, and stepped from the table. Then the game continued. Four players, and Patrick and Dane were not favored to win. He felt Marnie’s hand against his neck, caressing him with her thumb. He tilted his head, enjoying her delicate touch. All eyes were on her hand on his neck.

Marnie was right. These guys were good. Coke-bottle glasses had the most wins, with sunglasses coming in second. He glanced at Marnie and saw serious game face. It made him want to play her in a real game someday, one player among many, to see her skill.

Patrick was positively dour now. Maybe it was having a sick wife in another room, but then Dane decided, no, this was poker. No one at this table was thinking anything but Texas Hold’em. He’d bet headphones college kid regretted allowing Marnie’s body to distract him. Dane smiled again. Again, the table tensed.

“River round.” The dealer flipped the seventh card face up on the table. Dane’s best hand was three of a kind, jacks. The pot was substantial. They were down a player, and things were going to move fast now.

Sunglasses called, and everyone pushed their bets into the center of the table. The guy showed his hand, three tens, his face a blank canvas. Patrick used the last of his chips to participate in this round, showed his best hand—two pair, ace high. Not good enough. He was out. Patrick stood and made himself a drink.

At the two-hour mark, Dane was noticing the different levels of strain on the other players’ games and doubled down on not doing the same. When Coke-bottle glasses threw down a flush, five cards of the same suit—winning the hand—he smiled. First time ever in the game he showed any real emotion. He was getting cocky. Sunglasses couldn’t say the same. He pursed his lips and sat still for a moment, as if composing himself before admitting he was almost out, no more chips, and no added buy-ins were allowed, so he’d have to leave at the first raise. Sunglasses’ imminent loss surprised Dane almost as much as it surprised sunglasses. When he left the table minutes later, he gave an impersonal nod to all the other players. He was good and should have been a contender to win, but luck hadn’t been on his side.

Two players remaining, and the purse was Dane’s or Coke-bottle glasses’ to lose. Marnie’s hand was hot on his neck, and she was leaning against him, her breast pressing against his arm. Coke-bottle glasses couldn’t take his eyes off Marnie. His disapproval was searing.

Hell, Dane needed a drink. Marnie’s neglected vodka tonic called to him, so he downed it and held the empty glass up to David, silently asking for a refill. He must not have been subtle enough, because everyone’s attention was on him, each looking with varying degrees of horror.

Coke-bottle glasses was angry. “That was her lucky drink, you asshole.” Dane hadn’t intended to freak everyone out, but a win was a win. He sat back, patiently waiting for the moment to play itself out. Watching. Waiting. He’d
really
upset the man.

“It’s fine,” Marnie said. “I’m not playing, and you know I don’t believe in luck.” She cupped Dane’s cheeks and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. The blonde dealer took it as a sign to deal the cards, and soon Dane and
still
frowning Coke-bottle glasses were pushing their chips to the center of the table.

Dane held his cards low, so even he couldn’t see them. He didn’t try. Fuck it. What was in his hand was only part of the game. Reading his opponent was key, knowing when to bet, fold, raise, based off Coke-bottle glasses’ confidence in
his
hand. Were his eyes narrowing a bit, his hand squeezing the cards a little tightly? This guy hid his tells better than most, so upsetting him with the drink had been an unexpected gift. He was rattled, though he hid it well. Dane not looking at his cards annoyed him, too, so he raised on the flop and then raised again before finally giving in and looking. Coke-bottle glasses stared at Dane, interpreting his reaction to the cards. The room was quiet, waiting.

Coke-bottle glasses folded. Boom! Dane’s superpower in play. Some people were good at crosswords—Dane had the luck of the Irish in poker.

On the next hand, Coke-bottle glasses pulled a straight, beating Dane’s three aces. Dane’s chips dwindled. Things were not looking good. The blonde dealt the next hand. Dane figured if he was going to lose, it would be with this hand. There was no way he could string out the play much longer with his remaining chips. The turn round, six cards face up on the table. Marnie didn’t move. Coke-bottle glasses was staring at the cards in play, eyes on the table, deciding what to do. He folded.

Dane felt a jolt of adrenaline. He was back in the game with the majority of chips now.

The next half hour was the longest thirty minutes of his life. He gave in to the lure of another drink, a shot of bourbon, neat. It was either that or twitch. By the time they hit this river round, seven cards face up in the center of the table, they’d been playing for three hours total. Dane placed the bet; Coke-bottle glasses raised enough to make him think he had a great hand. Marnie must have thought so, too, because she studied Coke-bottle glasses like she was reading his mind. Dane saw nothing to indicate a bluff or otherwise—the guy was good—but whatever Marnie saw had her excited, and that could only mean she thought Coke-bottle glasses was bluffing. She knew this man better than he did. But Coke-bottle glasses knew her. It canceled itself out. In the end, Dane’s instincts agreed with her. If there’d been a pin in the vicinity and someone had the bad taste to drop it, it would have been heard. Everyone waited.

All in to win, to bring down a monster, capture a killer, get his family out of limbo, Dane pushed all his chips onto the table and raised, forcing Coke-bottle glasses to call or fold. Bluff or not, the man had a good enough hand to warrant his betting escalation. No one expected a fold.

“Call.” Coke-bottle glasses smiled, and his whole body relaxed, as if indicating the game was over. “Damn, Marnie. He’s good, but poker isn’t a hobby.” He laid down his cards one by one. Three of a kind, queen high. Hard to beat. “How many times have I told you that?” He finished his drink and slammed the glass on the table as if punctuating his bravado.

Dane heard Patrick behind him finishing his drink and putting his coat on. David laughed when he saw Coke-bottle glasses’ hand, and sunglasses was asking for a cab. It was over. Dane had expected to feel…more. He forced himself to snap out of his ennui as he turned his cards over.

“A straight, eight high,” the dealer said. “Mr. MacLain wins.”

The room fell silent. Marnie, her face still clear of expression, wasn’t watching him; she was watching Coke-bottle glasses slap the table and laugh. The room applauded. Marnie stood and winked at Dane.

“David!” Marnie whooped. “I’ll take that lucky vodka tonic with a lime twist now.”

“You don’t believe in luck.” David was ready for her. He gave her the drink.

“True.” She looked proud but acted as if Dane wasn’t in the room. It was weird.

“Congratulations, you two! We should celebrate.” David looked between him and Marnie.

“I wish I could, David, but we have a prior commitment.” Marnie sucked the drink down, smacked her lips, and laughed. She shook all the players’ hands and gave Coke-bottle glasses a kiss on the cheek. “He’s good, Ralph. Isn’t he?”

He nodded, still smiling. “It’s clear you’re preoccupied at the moment, but I expect a visit soon, a call even sooner.”

Dane finally understood the look he’d given Marnie at the beginning of the game. Pride. Marnie Somerville had a family after all. He’d begun to wonder. Hidden in shadows and forgotten crevices across the city, they weren’t blood, but she’d earned their admiration and loyalty. She said good-bye to everyone, bright eyed and excited. He did detect a little relief mixed in but didn’t hold it against her. He was feeling loads of it right now. They were out of there ten minutes after he won the game.

Instead of heading back to their room with the cash, Marnie made a phone call in the elevator, all hush-hush. When they reached the lobby, he stopped her. “I’ll call a cab. Give me the supplier’s address.”

“No need.” She scanned the lobby and saw the man she was looking for. He was wearing a Red Sox cap low on his forehead and a hoodie pulled over that. All Dane could see was his mouth, so he knew he was Caucasian, lean, tall, his black leather jacket expensive, his jeans baggy, and his basketball sneakers new. Dane wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a lineup. Marnie handed the man their winnings.