Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

“You know, the song…”

“Oh-‘The Gambler.’ Right.”

“What is it he says? To play your cards right all you need to know is when to hold and when to fold. Is he right?”

She gave one of her little whiskey laughs. “Uh…you do know he wasn’t really talking about poker, right?”

Now it was his turn to shift position, trying to find a place for her that would still allow his brain to function. When he had her more or less settled, he pressed his face into her hair, inhaled the sweetness of her scent, then murmured, “It’s an analogy, sure. They keep cropping up, these poker analogies-did you ever notice that? Maybe because they’re so perfect?”

She lay quiet, now, in his arms. “Life’s just one big poker game?”

“Isn’t it? Think about it. You don’t get any say in what cards you’re dealt, it’s all about how you play your hand.” He paused and wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “You have to know when to walk away, when to run. And you do. Don’t you?”

“Seems to me,” she said in a sad, quiet voice that wrung his heart, “I’m pretty good at running. Always have been.”

“Maybe…” His hands wanted to stroke her again…caress her. This time he let them, and he said huskily, “But not this time.”

Like a playful otter she turned in his arms, twisted around so she could look at him, and he took her face between his hands and held it while he looked into the shadows that hid her eyes. “Right now, when it counts, you’re still at the table. You could have walked away, but you didn’t. You stayed in the game.”

The sound she made could have been a laugh or a sob; it was too dark to tell. He brought her face to his and kissed her. “That’s all you have to do tomorrow, Billie-stay in the game. Make it to the next round. Okay? Win us another day.”

He waited for her nod, but instead she slithered upward and kissed him, and went on kissing him while her legs adjusted themselves around him in the confines of the tub. He groaned, groping blindly for willpower in the exotic jungle his senses had made of his reason. Blessedly, he found it, but allowed himself to savor, just for a moment, the hot, tight feel of her body around him. When he eased her away from him, every nerve and muscle in his body echoed her squeal of protest.

“The water’s getting cold and my backside’s numb,” he said in a whisper.

“Wuss,” she murmured.

“And the condoms are in the other room.”

“Oh-right.”

Weakened by laughter and desire, he let her pull him to his feet. Then he took the towel she gave him and wrapped her in it and carried her to her bed.

It was different this time. Billie couldn’t have put into words why, exactly, but it just was. Sure, there wasn’t the newness, the first-time nervousness, the collision of conscience with need, but it was more than that. Of course, a lot had happened-was still happening-but it wasn’t that, either. Something was different inside her.

The shape and taste of his mouth, the prickle of his beard-rough face on the palms of her hands, his hard, long body and big, gentle hands-these things she hadn’t even known before yesterday. Yet, now she felt as if she’d always known them.

This morning I told him I wasn’t a forever kind of woman, yet now I keep hearing the word forever whispered over and over inside my head like a bit of song that won’t leave me alone.

But he hasn’t changed. He still is not a forever kind of man. So where does that leave me?

Vulnerable. I could get hurt.

“What?” he whispered, staring down at her face in the darkness, his chest gone tight with tenderness. His fingers were cradling her head, and his thumbs, caressing her cheeks, had felt wetness there. “Billie…what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong…must’ve missed a spot with that towel,” she said, and her laughter was languid and sweet, so he thought he must have been mistaken.

Except that, when he bent his head to kiss away the moisture, he found it tasted faintly salty, like tears.

The ballroom at the Mirage was a zoo, a seething hive of humanity with a noise-level approaching damage limits. Where did all these people come from? Billie wondered as she stood in the entrance to the ballroom, searching the crowd for familiar faces. In the years since she’d last played in a major tournament, the popularity of no-limit hold ’em appeared to have exploded.

Yes, but it’s still the same game, she reminded herself. The most important thing to have in a tournament of this size was still self-discipline. That, and a lot of luck. Miley had taught her that much, at least. Right now, she knew, the field included a whole bunch of really terrible poker players, most of whom would be gone by the end of the night’s play. Later, when the players had been winnowed down to the top few, skill would make a difference. But on the first day of a tournament this size, it was mostly about luck. And discipline.

Billie knew she’d need both to make it through to tomorrow’s play.

Just buy us some time, Billie. Give us one more day.

“Hey-Billie Farrell, is that you?”

She turned to find the source of the voice, and it was a moment before she recognized one of the familiar faces on the tour. During play he’d be wearing a hooded sweatshirt and huge sunglasses. Without his disguise he looked deceptively young and harmless. “Hey,” she said. “Yeah…it’s me. Couldn’t stay away.”

“Well, welcome back-as long as you’re not at my table. What number are you at?”

She checked the card in her hand. “Uh…twenty-six.”

He flashed a grin. “Thank you, Lord. Well-see you later. If we’re both still around.” He touched her elbow and moved off into the crowd.

Well, here goes, Billie thought, and followed.

She found her table and took her place, nodding at the players already seated as she placed her backpack under her chair. In the backpack were a bottle of water, a can of high-energy drink, and several granola bars. She wouldn’t be drinking much; bathroom breaks could be few and far between. If she lasted that long. Also in the backpack were her sunglasses. She took them out and put them on, then arranged her allotment of chips on the table in front of her.

The last few players took their seats. So did the dealer, blank-faced and anonymous. A loud buzzer sounded, and the noise in the ballroom died to a suspenseful murmur. The tournament had begun.

She watched two cards come slithering across the blue-green table toward her. She put her hand over them and tipped up the corners. Ace-queen, suited. She laid the cards flat and sat back in her chair, her face an impassive mask.

Not a bad way to begin, she thought.

“O-kay,” Detective Vogel said, “this is the area we’re lookin’ at, right here.” He thumped the map on which he’d just drawn a large circle with a red marking pen, then turned to his audience. This consisted of Holt, Wade, Tierney and a couple of the LVPD detectives. The rest of the team were busy on the computers, and the FBI guys had been keeping a low profile, letting LVPD take the lead in the case. “Here’s I-15. The tower’s just off the interstate. He had to be somewhere in this range.”

“What the hell’s out there?” one of the detectives asked.

“Uh…Arizona?” somebody said, and got a few snorts of laughter in response.

Somebody else said, “A whole lotta desert.”

“Well, there’s Valley of Fire State Park.” This came from out in the middle of the squad room, where Sergeant Sanchez, the only woman on the team, had been staring intently at a computer monitor. She glanced up and added, “Google Maps,” by way of an explanation.

“Valley of Fire? Never heard of it,” Vogel said.

“Says here,” Sanchez went on, reading from the monitor screen, “it’s Nevada’s oldest state park.”

“Where are you gonna hide a kid in a state park? There’s nothing out there.” Vogel ran a hand over the gray stubble of his brush-cut hair, then aimed a question at the group at large. “How’re we coming on the credit card