Count on Love. Melinda Curtis
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hand. If she shuffled, the odds favored the house, because the card counter would have to start a new tally. With a put-upon sigh, she chose not to shuffle. The hair on the back of Annie’s neck prickled.
Annie’s eight dollars in chips still sat in the betting area. The other player bumped his bet to an uncharacteristic forty. Annie cast a worried glance at Sam. Though she didn’t think what this guy was doing was wrong, she had to signal Sam so that Tiny’s fist wouldn’t end up in his face, and she’d get that job at Slotto.
But what would happen to this man if she did finger him? Annie couldn’t repress the memory of fists pummeling her father’s flesh, accented by her own terrified screams. She’d vowed to never let her gambling skills be responsible for someone else’s welfare again.
Staring into his beer, Sam took no notice of Annie. His lips were moving. Was he singing? No. Talking on his cell phone. Tiny’s dark eyes, on the other hand, bored into Annie, a shot glass barely visible in his fist.
The dealer flicked cards out onto the table. Annie didn’t touch hers. She willed Sam to look at her, but he didn’t as much as glance her way to settle her nerves.
“Taking one?” the older woman asked, her voice raspy. It was the first time she’d spoken since Annie had sat down.
“What? Oh, sorry. I need a drink,” Annie mumbled, stalling as she looked at her cards for the first time. A jack and an ace, twenty-one in a natural hand that was unbeatable. The ace could count as one or eleven. Annie flipped her cards faceup. She didn’t need to play anymore.
The dealer stacked eight dollars in chips in front of Annie. The remaining player chewed on his cigar and brushed his cards across the felt to indicate he wanted another one. The dealer snapped out a seven. He laid his cards down. No smile, no frown. Cool as an ice cube. Annie could remember playing with that kind of composure when she was twelve and thought she was invincible. At twenty-six, she knew every decision came with a risk and a price.
She shot another nervous look Sam’s way. From here he looked gorgeous, the trace of sadness in his eyes not evident. He gave no sign that he was aware of her predicament. She was on her own. Next time she’d pick a man who was a good protector and good father material.
Next time? Annie’s breath came in near panicked pants. She couldn’t wait for a next time. Maddy’s toothy grin came to mind, a calming beacon. Annie inhaled deeply.
The dealer had an eight showing, and flicked her hole card over. A six, giving her a stiff fourteen. The rules dictated she had to take another card, and she snapped one down. Another eight. Once again she was busted.
The guy beside Annie turned over his two original cards with a puff of smoke from his cigar. A seven and a five added to the seven dealt him gave nineteen. He gathered up his chips, tossed one to the dealer and headed to the cashier window.
Annie slipped her jacket on, collected her winnings and followed him, curious as to how much he’d won. She tried to stand unobtrusively behind him in the cashier’s line, but had to step closer to hear the attendant count out his money. A quick glance showed her Sam was still engrossed in his call.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight hundred and eighty-five dollars.”
That much? He’d either been slipping his winnings into his pockets or he’d started out with a lot of chips. Only fifty dollars in chips had been out on the green felt. He hadn’t bragged or otherwise given away in the least the fact that he’d won and won big. Only disciplined pros gambled like that. They had to be if they wanted to remain inconspicuous. Occasional players couldn’t keep their good fortune to themselves. At a larger casino with extensive video cameras and pit bosses, the man’s image would have been compared to a bank of known card counters and if a match was made, he’d be escorted out soon after his next win. The gambler certainly knew casino limits.
Moving quickly, he stepped back, almost on top of Annie. She scrambled out of the way and dropped some of her chips.
“Excuse me,” she said as she crouched to pick them up, avoiding looking into his eyes.
His penny loafers paused too close in front of her face. She just knew that he knew that she knew what he’d been doing. At any moment, Annie expected him to drag her up by her hair and use her for a shield as he made his escape, or knock her aside so that she wouldn’t follow him.
As if she had the courage to stop him. Annie’s heart hammered. She crouched, frozen.
The brown loafers shifted, then quickly moved away.
Annie sighed and stood, knees spongy with relief, forcing herself not to turn around to see where the man had gone. That was Sam’s job.
She poured her chips out to the cashier, who frowned at the obvious breach in protocol.
“Sorry,” Annie said with an apologetic smile, helping the woman stack the chips.
CHAPTER THREE
ANNIE THRUST THIRTY-SIX dollars at Sam, who was still huddled over his beer with the cell phone glued to his ear. At the other end of the bar, the cashier who’d handled Annie’s chips whispered in Tiny’s ear.
“I need you,” he said, before hanging up and pushing her hand away with a frown. Obviously, she’d interrupted him making a hot date. “What did you think you were doing out there?”
“What did I…” For the love of Pete. “I thought I was helping you out.” What did he think she was doing? Annie tossed the bills he’d refused on the scarred, dark wood bar.
Sam leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “He could have made you.”
It didn’t matter that Annie’s own imagination had tumbled in similar directions just moments ago. What had Sam done about his fears? Nothing. Never mind that he had broad shoulders made for defending others. He was only interested in protecting his tush, not hers. “Well, the least you could do is back me up if you thought he was such a threat.”
“I never left the room.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Did you even notice he’s gone? What do I need to do to get your attention, bare my breasts?” She had been stripped of her prospects, classified as an unacceptable employee and given the heebie-jeebies by a professional gambler. Events had pushed her beyond the rules of propriety she’d conditioned herself to live by.
“Que pasa, Knight?” a deep voice boomed from the other side of the bar. Tiny filled the space behind the counter. “Was the guy a cheat or just lucky?” He cracked his knuckles just by squeezing his hands into fists.
“We can’t say for sure,” Sam said at the same time Annie declared, “Oh, yeah.”
The two of them exchanged frustrated glances.
Sam recovered first. “This is Annie Raye, my card-counting expert.”
She arched a brow at Sam before extending a hand across the bar, to be swallowed in Tiny’s giant one. “Nice to meet you.”
The man’s shadowy eyes looked her up and down, then up and down again with a glance meant to put her in her place. And then he scowled. “Wait a minute. Brett Raye’s daughter?”
The way Tiny said it, as if he’d heard of her before, made Annie queasy. By now her name should have meant nothing. Which could only mean one thing.
Dad.
Why couldn’t he let her reputation fade?
“You’ve heard of her?” Sam asked, looking slightly perplexed.
Annie started to sweat again.
“Brett Raye isn’t welcome here.” Staring in the area of Annie’s cleavage, Tiny rolled his tongue around in his mouth as if searching for some bit of food he’d missed at lunchtime, to make room for a bit of Annie. “And after today—”
“He’s a player,” Annie interrupted, fighting the urge