not the dice, as they skittered and danced.
Lee watched in rapt attention, and I thought that though he wasn't pretty like Kisten, he was far more likely to be on a magazine cover than Nick. Just an average guy, and a witch with a degree. My mother would love me to bring this one home. Something had to be wrong with him. Besides his demon mark? I thought dryly. God, save me from myself.
The watching people had various reactions to the eight I rolled. 'Not good?' I asked Lee.
His shoulders rose and fell as he took the dice the craps man pushed to him. 'It's okay,' he said. 'But you have to roll an eight again before a seven comes up to win.'
'Oh,' I said, pretending I understood. Mystified, I threw the dice. This time they came up nine. 'Keep going?' I said, and he nodded.
'I'll place some one-roll bets for you,' he said, then paused. 'If that's okay?'
Everyone was waiting, so I said, 'Sure, that will be great.'
Lee nodded. His brow furrowed for a moment, then he set a pile of red chips on a square. Someone snickered, leaning to whisper 'Innocent slaughter' in their neighbor's ear.
The dice were warm in my hand, and I sent them rolling. They bounced off the wall, coming to halt. It was an eleven, and everyone at the table groaned. Lee, though, was smiling. 'You won,' he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'See?' He pointed. 'Odds are fifteen-to-one of rolling an eleven. I figured you'd be a zebra.'
My eyes widened as the predominate color of my pile of chips went from red to blue as the craps man piled a stack on them. 'Beg pardon?'
Lee set the dice in my hand. 'When you hear hoofbeats, look for horses. That would be the common rolls in this case. I knew you'd roll something odd. A zebra.'
I grinned, rather liking the idea, and the dice flew from me almost before he moved my chips to another square. My pulse quickened, and as Lee explained the details of odds and betting, I rolled again, and again, and again, the table becoming louder and more excited. It wasn't long before I caught on. The risk, the question of what would happen and the breathless wait until the dice settled, was akin to being on a run, only better because here it was little plastic chips on the line, not my life. Lee switched his tutorial to other ways to wager, and when I dared to make a suggestion, he beamed, gesturing that the table was mine.
Delighted, I took over the betting, letting it ride where it was while Lee put a hand on my shoulder and whispered the odds of throwing this and that. He smelled like sand. I could feel his excitement through the thin material of my silk shirt, and the warmth of his fingers seemed to linger on my shoulder when he shifted to put the dice in my hand.
I looked up when the table cheered my latest roll, surprised that almost everyone was clustered about us and that we had somehow become the center of attention. 'Looks like you have it.' Lee smiled as he took a step back.
Immediately my face went slack. 'You're leaving?' I asked as the red-cheeked guy drinking beer pressed the dice into my hand and urged me to throw them.
'I need to go,' he said. 'But I couldn't resist meeting you.' Leaning close, he said, 'I enjoyed teaching you craps. You're a very special woman, Rachel.'
'Lee?' Confused, I set the dice down and the people around the table groaned.
Lee slid the dice into his hand and put them in mine. 'You're hot. Don't stop.'
'Do you want my phone number?' I asked. Oh God, I sounded desperate.
But Lee smiled, his teeth hidden. 'You're Rachel Morgan, the I.S. runner who quit to work with last living Tamwood vamp. You're in the phone book—in four places, no less.'
My face flamed, but I managed to stop myself before I told everyone I wasn't a hooker.
'Till next time,' Lee said, raising his hand and inclining his head before he walked away.
Setting the dice down, I backed from the table so I could watch him vanish up the stairway at the back of the boat, looking good in his tux and purple sash. It matched his aura, I decided. A new shooter took my place, and the noise returned.
My good mood soured, I retreated to a table by a cold window. One of the wait staff brought me my three buckets of chips. Another set a fresh Dead Man's Float on a linen napkin. A third lit the red candle and asked me if I needed anything. I shook my head, and he eased away. 'What's wrong with this picture?' I whispered as I rubbed my fingers into my forehead. Here I was dressed up like a young rich widow, sitting alone in a casino with three buckets of chips. Lee had known who I was and never let on? Where in hell was Kisten?
The excitement at the craps table nosedived, and people started pulling away in twos and threes. I counted to a hundred, then two hundred. Angry, I stood, ready to cash in my chips and find Kisten. Little boys' room, my ass. He was probably upstairs playing poker—without me.
Chip buckets in hand, I jerked to a stop. Kisten was coming down the stairs, movements sharp and quick with a living vampire's speed. 'Where have you been?' I demanded when he came even with me. His face was tight and I could see a line of sweat on him.
'We're leaving,' he said shortly. 'Let's go.'
'Hold up.' I jerked out of the grip he had on my elbow. 'Where've you been? You left me all alone. Some guy had to teach me how to throw craps. See what I won?'
Kisten glanced down at my buckets, clearly not impressed. 'The tables are fixed,' he said, shocking me. 'They were entertaining you while I talked to the boss.'
I felt as if I'd been punched in the gut. I jerked back when he went for my elbow again. 'Stop trying to drag me around,' I said, not caring that people were watching. 'And what do you mean, you were talking to the boss?'
He gave me an exasperated look, the first hints of stubble showing on his chin. 'Can we do this outside?' he said, obviously in a hurry.
I glanced at the big men coming down the stairway. This was a gambling boat. It wasn't Piscary's. Kisten was handling the undead vampire's affairs. He was here leaning on the new guy in town, and he had brought me in case there was trouble. My chest tightened in anger as it all started to come together, but discretion was the wiser part of valor.
'Fine,' I said. My boots made muted thumps in time with my pulse as I headed for the door. I dropped my buckets of chips on the counter and smiled grimly at the chip lady. 'I want my winnings donated to the city fund for rebuilding the burned orphanages,' I said tightly.
'Yes, ma'am,' the woman said politely, weighing them out.
Kisten took a chip from the pile. 'We're going to cash this one out.'
I plucked it from his fingers, mad at him for having used me like this. This was where he wanted Ivy to go with him. And I had fallen for it. Whistling, I tossed the chip to the craps dealer. He caught it, inclining his head in thanks.
'That was a hundred-dollar chip!' Kisten protested.
'Really?' Ticked, I took another, throwing it after the first. 'I don't want to be a cheap ass,' I muttered. The woman handed me a receipt for $8,750, donated to the city's fund. I stared at it for a moment, then tucked it in my clutch purse.
'Rachel,' Kisten protested, his face going red behind his blond hair.
'We're keeping nothing.' Ignoring Kisten's coat that the doorman was holding for me, I blew out the door with its double S's. One for Saladan, perhaps? God, I was a fool.
'Rachel…' Anger made Kisten's voice hard as he leaned out the door after me. 'Come back here and tell her to cash one of them out.'
'You gave me the first ones, and I won the rest!' I shouted from the foot of the ramp, my arms wrapped around me in the falling snow. 'I'm donating all of them. And I'm pissed at you, you bloodsucking coward!'
The man at the foot of the ramp snickered, steeling his face into impassivity when I glared at him. Kisten hesitated, then closed the door and came down after me, my borrowed coat over his arm. I stomped to his car, waiting for him to unlock the door for me or tell me to call a cab.
Still putting on his coat, Kisten stopped beside me. 'Why are you mad at me?' he said flatly, his blue eyes starting to go black in the dim light.
'That is Saladan's boat, isn't it?' I said furiously, pointing. 'I may be slow, but I eventually catch on. Piscary runs the gambling in Cincinnati. You came out here looking for Piscary's cut. And Saladan turned you down, didn't
