Vegas, Baby (9 page)

CHAPTER 11

LOCALS, tourists and tournament hopefuls consistently packed the Golden Sunset Casino to capacity during the poker matches.

With so many people invading the not-nearly-large-enough space, Rio had an easy time convincing Eddie this was the perfect chance to acquire information. And jumping right into the fray was the best way to do that.

Mingling into the poker tournament, she spied Eddie sitting next to a cowboy at a crowded table. But he wasn’t a real cowboy. The only kind of horse this guy had ever been on was probably one of those you find in front of stores that require coins to make it operate.

More than likely, he was one of those people who liked showing off what his money could buy. Cowboy’s wealth afforded him alligator boots, belt, and a matching band around his Diamante—the best Stetson had to offer.

This guy was a class A show-off. If the salesclerk who’d sold him all this matching attire told him it’d help him attract women, Cowboy should ask for his money back.

Rio went for the empty stool on the other side of Eddie, wondering how long it’d take the tournament officials to notice. That’d tell her a little something about how organized they were.

Cowboy tapped Eddie on the arm and gestured toward Rio. Eddie glanced at her and watched her, as if he were nothing more than another admiring onlooker.

She gave him a quick smile and turned away, concentrating on the opposite side of the table. “My goodness. This place is just like a big old maze.” She poured it on thick in the deepest southern drawl she could manage. “I thought I’d never find my seat. I’m not even sure this is it.” Her laughter bubbled over and spilled around the table.

“Where are you from, little darlin’?” A man asked from the opposite end of the table, making a feeble attempt at matching her accent.

She prepared to dazzle the contestants with her charm. “Why, honey, I’m from—”

A man sitting on her right cut her off. “Let me guess...Texas?” He snickered, and she felt like she was playing jester to the clown.

“How did you know?” She let him think she was surprised. “What gave me away?”

Rio fiddled with the waistline of her jeans, tracing the brim along to her backside. She brushed her fingers down over her bottom and skimmed one palm along Eddie’s leg as she brought her hands back around to rest in her lap.

Eddie’s response, a soft chuckle, was so faint she nearly missed it.

“Because,” the cowboy on the other side of Eddie answered her inquiry, “they only breed ‘em like you down in Texas, honey.”

You don’t say
. She kept the urge to laugh inside her head. “That’s what my daddy always used to say about my momma.” She let her gaze follow the humor around the table. Amusement flickered in Eddie’s eyes. She moved on to meet Cowboy’s just as interested yet less than welcomed stare. She cut the connection quickly and looked down at the card table. “My momma was from Georgia.”

“Miss...” A man’s authoritative voice slid in from behind her. She could tell by his tone that he was going to spoil her fun.

Well, it’s about time
. Rio had begun to wonder about the casino’s credibility when it came to sponsoring a poker tournament of this size and magnitude.

Rio checked over her shoulder. Just as she’d surmised and anticipated, a casino employee stood poised behind her. A Pit Boss, she deduced, evident by his polyester suit that looked like so many others roaming around the casino. With a quick, nonchalant glimpse she sized him up, taking note of his nametag.

Lester Perzinsky.

* * *

The casino employee studied Rio’s name tag. Either that, or he was blatantly ogling her breasts. Eddie hoped it wasn’t the latter. He’d hate to have to beat the crap out of some casino employee. That’d probably blow their cover.

“Miss Butler—” Lester’s formal greeting ensured his safety from Eddie’s wrath. “—why don’t you let me assist you in finding your assigned seat.”

“This isn’t my seat?”

“No, Ms. Butler. It isn’t.”

“Please, call me Scarlett.” She flashed a pleasant smile and pushed herself off the stool.

“Follow me, Ms. Scarlett,” he said dryly, leading her away.

She walked away and the laughter around the table slowly died out. Everyone, it seemed, including Eddie, was mourning the loss of Miss Scarlet Butler.

“Was that one a little pistol or what?” Cowboy tapped Eddie’s forearm and then sucked down a long drink from his cocktail, a whiskey and Coke.

“Oh, yeah!” Eddie bellowed out an agreeable laugh. “Hopefully, I’ll run into her again.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Cowboy’s tone hinted at the disappointment Eddie felt when Rio was ushered away. “You and I...we’re out of her league.”

“Story of my life.” Eddie let out a chuckle just as the rightful contestant claimed the seat next to him—a short, balding, overweight fellow.

* * *

Rio surveyed the conference room on the fourth floor of the Federal Complex. While waiting for Gabe, Eddie entertained Bradley and Rivera with his version of last night’s poker games. Switzer, on the other hand, his face had long since turned into a scowl.

“She was so convincing as Scarlett Butler that even I, knowing the truth, bought into the charade.” Eddie looked faintly amused. “I think Laraquette missed her calling.”

“As what...a hooker?” Blake Switzer’s words breezed past Rio with a biting chill.

Eddie rumbled like a volcano.

The need to subdue Eddie’s anger didn’t give her time to think about her own. “
It’s okay
.” She mouthed the words to him.

Without Eddie’s distraction, she could’ve been a lot harder on Switzer. She already didn’t like the way he looked at her. He
wanted
her. She knew that. But the thought grossed her out.

“Oh, yeah.” Bradley joined in on the roast. “You should’ve seen the sad faces when the pit boss took her away.” With a slight snicker, he confirmed Eddie’s claims, having been placed as an undercover operative inside the casino.

Rio’s mind pushed the unwanted thoughts of Blake Switzer aside, replacing them with the woes that Eddie LaCall could prompt.

Thanks a lot, Bradley
. That’s all LaCall needed—someone egging him on.
Okay, Rio, knock it off
. Time to focus.

The door swung open. Gabe walked in and tossed a manila file onto the table. Pulling the chair out at the head of the table, he grumbled. “Laraquette, LaCall, what do you got for me?”

The poker games. That’s where her mind should be. “There’s something odd going on with the tournament.”

“Like what?” Gabe asked, sitting.

“Well, I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Rio fought to tame her unnerved resignation. “But there was something off at the tables I’ve played at.”

“You know what I found interesting?” Eddie said, but didn’t wait for anyone’s answer. “There seemed to have been one very lucky player at each of the tables I was assigned.”

Dickie King entered the conference room pushing a cart with a projector on it.

Gabe glanced over his shoulder and turned back quickly. “How so?” he said to Eddie.

“It’s hard to say, but a couple of the players around me were either really good at bluffing—” He gave a vague shrug that suggested the supposition didn’t carry much weight with him. “Or they were extremely lucky.”

“While they may be pretty good at bluffing,” Dickie said, positioning the projector and plugging it into the light socket behind him. “It’s not likely that either notion is responsible for what’s been happening.”

Rio made the connection that Dickie must have photographs and he was about to share them.

Images splashed against the far wall. Instantly, Rio recognized the scene. Pictures of the poker tournament, up close and personal.

Dickie hurried toward the front of the room, tapping his pointer on the back of each chair that he passed. He placed the stick against the wall, in the middle of one of the player’s faces. “See this guy right here?” he mused. “When he has good hole cards or the flop compliments his hole cards, he focuses on the dealer. On the other hand, when his odds are weak, he eyes the other players trying to coerce them with intimidating stares.” Dickie grunted out a hearty laugh. “The reaction he gets from the other players determines whether or not he puts his money where his mouth is by bluffing.”

“Interesting.” Blake Switzer growled. “But what’s so illegal about that?”

Careful
. Rio issued Switzer a silent warning. Eddie could tell him a thing or two about getting snippy with Dickie King. He, like everybody else that had, ended up regretting it. The whiz kid wasn’t the violent type. Instead, he took great pleasure in making those who rubbed him the wrong way look like an idiot.

“Nothing.” Dickie shrugged, squared his shoulders and hardened his tone. “Merely food for thought.” He turned toward the projections, fast-forwarding to a shot of the corner of two hole cards. Aces. “These hole cards are not the Intimidator’s. They were dealt to someone else at the table. Throughout the match, Lucky here was also dealt numerous, various pairs and face cards. Where do you think he placed when the match was over?” Dickie inquired, glancing around the conference table with eyes that wondered if any of them had a clue.

“Lucky didn’t move forward,” Eddie said. “I remember him well. The only time he cruised past the come-out bid was when he was the big blind, and nobody raised those initial bids.”

“The Intimidator figured that out early on, too. He started raising the blinds and the only time Lucky ever considered stepping up to the plate was when he had a pair of aces in the hole.” Dickie began painting a rather disturbing picture. “There was even an incident when Lucky was intimated into folding with a pair of aces in the hole, while another stared him in the face on the initial flop.”

“So Lucky had the cards laid out for him but he didn’t take advantage of it.” Rio rationalized out loud, tapping her fingertips on the arm of her chair. “That doesn’t make any sense.” She looked around the table. Were any of her colleagues on the same page?

“Dickie, could you summarize your findings for us?” Gabe cleared his throat. “In layman’s terms.”

“Sure,” Dickie said easily. “Basically, the cards at certain tables are being laid out in deliberate fashion.”

“You’re accusing the tournament officials of rigging the games?” Blake Switzer scoffed.

“Not at all.” Dickie’s sights traveled quickly to Switzer and stared him down. “I don’t believe the tournament officials are behind this sham,” he said with a measure of indifference.

“What?” Switzer’s voice barked out and Rio nearly leaped out of her chair. “You just said the cards were tampered with.”

“But I never said the tournament officials were responsible.” Dickie’s indifference had changed to smugness.

He knew something Switzer didn’t. Ha.

“If not them, then who?” Gabe’s tone had gone from impatient to anxious.

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Dickie perched his hands on his hips, his pointer dangling at one side like a sword. “Who the hell knows?” He waved his hand without the sword at Rio and Eddie. “That’s what your dynamic duo here is supposed to figure out.”

Dickie’s frustration seemed to mount as he gathered his things. By the time he got to the door, he looked ready to explode.

“Thanks, Dickie,” Rio said. “You gave us exactly what we needed.”

“No problem, Laraquette. Glad I could help,” he said to her with a bit of friendliness invading his tone. He disappeared into the hallway without bothering to say goodbye.

“So what are your thoughts?” Gabe directed his inquiry at Rio.

“Well, ideally, either Eddie or I would get into one of those hot seats,” she said, thinking out loud. “But if not, then we’ve got to disrupt the flow of the cards. Somehow.”

“As soon as you figure out your next moves, detail it in writing on my desk.” Gabe issued his orders, closing the subject on the poker tournament, and turned to Switzer. “What have you got for us? Any updates on Laraquette’s stalker?”

Switzer shrugged. “The latest letter was composed from the Sacramento Bee, Seattle Times, Dallas Morning News, the New York Times and Life Magazine,” he uttered the facts with a slight hint of arrogance.

“Life Magazine?” The thought boggled Rio’s mind.

“And that means what exactly?” Eddie’s words came calmly, but the intensity glaring from his eyes wilted Switzer’s superior attitude. The man shriveled like a raisin.

“I don’t know.” Switzer scanned the room restlessly.

Eddie threw his hands up. “So that’s your update? You know where the pieces came from, but you’re not any closer to determining who assembled the letter?” Eddie’s jaw twitched as he challenged Switzer to an aggressive stare down.

Switzer was no match for Eddie, not even on his best day. His feeble attempt at severing the connection was laughable. Clearly, Eddie intimidated Switzer. When Switzer was finally successful at breaking free from Eddie’s wrathful glare, he sheepishly scanned the faces around the table.

Switzer fixed a gaze on Rio and it radiated hatred that went way beyond a simple unrequited crush.
Geez
. You’d think she’d betrayed him personally when she slept with Eddie.

Did Switzer know? But how?

Damn it, LaCall
! The censure soared across her mind. If he was guilty of kissing and telling, she was going to kill him.

“Laraquette...” Switzer’s insistent voice cut into Rio’s thoughts. “I’m doing everything I can to find out who’s behind those letters.”

“I know you are.” But was it enough? “Let’s just hope for the best.” With her life possibly on the line, the idea of an inadequate savior didn’t thrill Rio. She needed a hero. She left Blake’s fretful gaping and sought out Eddie’s warm and sensuous gaze.

He could be her hero.

Her face flamed with the fiery thoughts. But the cold splash of anger slathered over Eddie’s face—and all of it directed at Switzer—yanked her back into the game.

Eddie’s scowl eased as his head turned slowly toward Gabe. “I just want you to have it on record, here and now,” he said. “If anything happens to her—” He directed a pointed finger at Rio. “I’m going to hold your boy personally responsible.” Finally, Eddie’s accusing finger landed in Switzer’s direction.