Kitty and the Dead Man’s Hand

Enough of this. I was supposed to be on vacation. “Are we done here? Any more secrets you want to know, or can we leave?”

They stepped aside and let us pass. We did so, carefully, walking arm to arm. I didn’t want to show my back to them, so I let Ben lead and watched them over my shoulder.

“You’ll slip,” Evan said. “Werewolves always do. One of these days, you’ll slip up, and one of us will find you.”

Ben stopped but didn’t turn around when he said, “I don’t believe that. I never did.”

Brenda gave a mocking chuckle. “You can’t convince me you’re actually happy being a monster.”

Wearing a thin-lipped smile, he looked at me, then her. “Beats being unhappy as one.”

“If you guys aren’t going to shoot us, we’re going,” I said, taking Ben’s hand and pulling him toward the elevators.

Ben didn’t move. He’d donned this quirky half-grin. “You want to see one of the benefits of being a werewolf? Besides getting to shack up with a babe like Kitty?”

Oh, a million brownie points for him, right there. “Aw, honey,” I said.

Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Stake me a hundred bucks and I’ll show you a trick,” Ben said.

“What?” Evan said, like he hadn’t heard right.

“I’m going to play some poker. Stake me a hundred and I’ll double it.”

“What has this got to do with being a werewolf?” Brenda said.

“Trust me.”

Evan shrugged. “I’m game.”

“You’re crazy,” Brenda said.

“Let’s go,” Ben said, marching toward the elevators.

I trailed after him, nervous because Brenda and Evan flanked me. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ben said. “You guys going to shoot me?”

“Only if I see your claws,” Evan said.

“Deal.”

This could only end badly.

On the elevator ride down, Ben was pure lupine bravado, back straight, shoulders square, glare in place. His tail, if he’d had it, would have been straight up. Maybe even wagging.

I eyed the two bounty hunters, who eyed me back. “I don’t trust them. I want to stay with you.” Even though I was wearing nothing but a bikini, a wraparound skirt, and sandals. I’d be out of place in the poker room.

“Kitty, you’ve been talking about sitting by the pool for weeks. You should go. I’ll be fine.”

I looked at Evan and Brenda. “If anything happens to him, Cormac’ll go after you guys.”

They actually flinched at that and looked a tiny bit nervous. Even Brenda.

“He’s in jail,” she said.

“That’ll just give you a couple years to let your guard down before he gets you.” I gave her a wolf smile.

“Nothing will happen to Ben,” Evan said.

“Unless he sprouts claws,” Brenda added.

The freaks.

The elevator doors opened. Ben gave me a light kiss. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” I said weakly. The three of them marched off toward the casino.

Which left me with nothing to do but check out the pool. Ben was a big boy. He could take care of himself.

Couldn’t say I cared much for his friends.

Chapter 11

Finally, I was poolside. Morning sun. Strawberry margarita. Bliss. The only thing missing was Ben rubbing lotion onto my back.

The place was done up like the courtyard of a luxurious Italian villa. Mosaic tiles lined the rectangular pool and the deck around it. Shrubs and trees trimmed into geometric topiaries lined the area, blocking out the view of the surrounding streets and buildings, along with pots filled with ivy and flowering vines. More neoclassical statuary, made of plaster or concrete or whatever, lurked here and there: half-nude nymphs playing pan pipes and dropping grapes into the mouths of satyrs, luscious stone lads and lasses making eyes at one another, and so forth. It was all a little much. The place had an interesting tapestry of smells: chlorine and pool chemicals, sharp and tangy; lotions and oils; alcohol and sugar, enough to make me feel a little tipsy just breathing. Twisting paths led to hidden areas where people could sit and sunbathe in peace and quiet if they chose, away from the main pool with its swim-up bars and blackjack tables. I chose a place on a little patio area off to the side, still with a view of the pool—and anyone who might try to sneak up on me—but peaceful. Vegas, I decided, would be great if it didn’t have so many people.

Despite all Ben’s efforts to distract me and help me relax last night, my anxiety had returned. That creeping stiffness between my shoulder blades, the feeling that someone was watching me and I needed to look over my shoulder. I lay back, listening to splashing in the water, letting it calm me, then sat up abruptly because I could have sworn someone was standing next to my chair, looking down at me. No one was.

The rest of the pool area was filling with people as the day heated up. A couple of families played in one corner, the kids laughing and splashing. A few young couples lounged in chairs with magazines and drinks. Lots of stylish swimsuits and tanned bodies glowing with health. A waitress circulated taking drink orders. This was all perfectly normal.

Twenty yards or so to my left, a woman was taking a picture of the scene with her cell phone. Something to send back home. Weather’s great, wish you were here. Was it my imagination, or was the camera lens pointed right at me?

She lowered the phone and winked at me.

Or maybe she didn’t. Was I being paranoid again? I should have laid back down and convinced myself I was being paranoid. But I watched her leave and realized why I was so bothered: That was Sylvia. She looked totally different, floral skirt wrapped around her hips, black string bikini top, bag slung over a bare shoulder. Her brown hair was pinned up with a carved wooden clip. She wasn’t doing anything threatening. Just looking at me.

I sat back again, breathing calmly and telling Wolf to settle down. We weren’t cornered. The ice was melting in my margarita. I took a drink and wondered if I should follow Sylvia, to find out what she was up to. Or would that only piss her off?

At this point, I couldn’t possibly roll over to get some sun on my back. You didn’t turn your back on an enemy, never ever.

So much for a nice, relaxing time by the pool. With Sylvia gone I should have felt better, but the feeling that someone was watching me increased. It felt like bugs crawling over my skin.

At least the sun was warm. Pleasantly warm. The presence of the swimming pool kept the air wet enough to be comfortable rather than scorching. If I could just doze off, revel in the show’s success, forget about everything else. . .

Then I saw him, sitting on a lounge chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching me through stylish sunglasses. When he caught me staring back at him, he smiled, then stood and walked toward me.

I recognized the swept-back dark hair, the square jaw, the alluring eyes, the knowing smile. It was Balthasar, King of Beasts, stalking toward me like a lion on the veldt. He may very well have been a lion; I smelled the musk of fur on him.

He didn’t need to be out here working on his tan, because it was already perfect. As was the rest of him, really. I could have labeled the muscle groups on his torso, if I’d known what any of them were called. Some bodies were meant for Speedo. His was black. It was all I could do to not melt through the fabric of my lounge chair. I managed to lie there calmly, watching his approach with an air of detached interest, and not feel too self-conscious about my vampiricly pale skin.

“Hello,” he said and gestured to the chair beside me. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go right ahead,” I said, and he did. He stayed sitting up, looking at me.

In wolf body language—and in the body language of most of the lycanthropes I knew about—the most submissive posture a person could adopt was on her back, belly up, gazing beseechingly at the dominant looking down on her. Kind of like the position I was in relative to Balthasar right now.

I sat up, putting myself on an equal footing with him, and felt a little better.

“You seem to be enjoying your stay,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. He had fabulous green eyes. Emerald green.

“I am, thanks.” About two inches separated our knees, we sat that close.

“I have to ask—I’m on pins and needles. Are you coming to the show?”

“Ah, so you did set up that little performance last night.”

He narrowed his gaze and might have purred behind the smile. “I can’t take credit for putting Nick up to that. But I can’t say it was such a bad idea, either. If I had known how attractive you are in person—” He finished the thought with a suggestive tilt to his head.

“Thanks,” I said, still trying to gain some kind of footing. He had to want something, right? He had to be here for a reason. “You should have come to the show last night and we could have had a nice chat.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. If I expect you to come to my show, that’s the very least I should have done. But I do hope you’ll consider joining us.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to. I’m getting married this evening.”

He made an appropriate expression of surprise. “You are? Lucky man. Where is he? I’d love to meet him.”

I gritted my teeth behind my smile. “He’s off playing poker.”

Balthasar tsked sympathetically. “He’s a brave man, leaving his beautiful fiancée alone in Las Vegas .”

I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted Ben to meet Balthasar. I told myself it was because I didn’t want Balthasar finding out Ben’s a werewolf. I blushed fiercely.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “The matinee’s in about two hours. Why don’t you come to that? I’ll make sure you get the best seat in the house. You can come backstage after and meet the cast.”