Dealing Her Final Card. Jennie Lucas
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had never hated herself so much as she did in that moment. She rubbed her eyes, hard. She’d thought she could save her hapless baby sister from the perils of gambling. Instead, she’d proved herself more stupidly naive than Josie had ever been.
The warm, close air in the red-curtained, windowless room suddenly choked her. Pushing past the annoyed blonde who’d stood behind Vladimir’s chair, Bree ran for the exit, past a startled Kai who was guarding the door. She rushed down the hall, past the deserted outdoor bar, into the dark night.
She ran up the hill, trying to focus on the feel of the path beneath her feet, on the hard rhythm of her breathing. But she was counting down her freedom in minutes. Eight. Seven and a half. Seven.
Her right foot stumbled and she slowed to a walk, her breath a rasp in her throat. The moon glowed above her as she reached the apartment building she shared with her sister.
Bree shivered as a warm breeze blew against her clammy skin. Rushing up the open-air stairs of the aged, moss-covered structure, she shook with fear. He would take everything from her. Everything.
She’d been stupid. So stupid. He’d set his trap and she’d walked right into it. And now Josie would be left alone, with no one to watch out for her.
Bree started to reach for the doorknob, then stopped. Her body shook as she remembered the poker chips she’d been so proud to win—all of which she’d left behind. With a choked sob, she covered her face with her hands. How would she ever explain this disaster to Josie?
The door abruptly opened.
“There you are,” Josie said. “I saw you come up the path. Did you manage to …?” But her sister’s hopeful voice choked off when she saw Bree’s face. “Oh,” she whispered. “You … you lost?”
Josie spoke the words as if they were impossible. As if she’d never once thought such a thing could happen. Bree had never lost big like this before—ever. Even tonight, she would have won, if she hadn’t allowed Vladimir to tempt her into one last game. Her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know who she hated more at this moment—him or herself.
Him. Definitely him.
“What happened?” Josie breathed.
“The stranger was Vladimir,” Bree said through dry lips. “The man who kicked you out of the game was Vladimir Xendzov.”
Josie stared at her blankly. But of course—she’d been only twelve when their father had died, and Bree had set her sights on the twenty-five-year-old businessman with a small mining company, who’d returned to Alaska to try to buy back his family’s land. She’d hoped to con him out of enough cash to pay off the dangerous men who’d tracked them down and were demanding repayment of the money Black Jack and Bree had once stolen.
She’d fallen for Vladimir instead. And Christmas night, when he’d proposed to her, she’d decided to tell him everything. But his brother told him first—and by then, it was in the newspapers. Without a word, he’d abruptly left Alaska, leaving eighteen-year-old Bree and her sister threatened by dangerous men—as well as the sheriff, who’d wanted to toss Bree into jail and Josie into foster care. So they’d thrown everything into their beat-up old car in the middle of the night, and headed south. For the past ten years, they’d never stopped running.
“You lost? At poker?” Josie repeated, dazed. Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “This is all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” Bree said tightly.
“Of course it is!”
Josie was clearly miserable. Looking at her little sister’s tearful face, Bree came to a sudden decision. She grabbed her duffel bag.
“Pack,” she said tersely.
Josie didn’t move. Her expression was bewildered. “Where are we going?”
Bree stuffed her passport into her bag, and any clean clothes she could reach. “Airport. You have two minutes.”
“Oh, my God,” Josie breathed, staring at her. “You want to run. What on earth did you lose?”
“Move!” Bree barked.
Jumping, her sister turned and grabbed her knapsack. A scant hundred seconds later, Bree was pulling on her hand and yanking her toward the door.
“Hurry.” She flung open the door. “We’ll get our last paychecks and—”
Vladimir stood across the open-air hallway. His broad-shouldered, powerful body leaned casually against the wall in the shadows.
“Going somewhere?” he murmured silkily.
Bree stopped short, staring up in shock. Behind her, Josie ran into her back with a surprised yelp.
He lifted a dark eyebrow and gave Bree a cold smile. “I had a feeling you would attempt to cheat me. But I admit I’m disappointed. Some part of me had hoped you might have changed over the last ten years.”
Other hulking shadows appeared on the stairs. He hadn’t come alone.
Desperately, Bree tossed her head and glared at him defiantly. “How do you know I wasn’t just hurrying to be on time to meet you in the lobby?”
Vladimir’s smile became caustic. “Hurrying to meet me? No. Ten years ago you could barely be on time for anything. You’d have been late to my funeral.”
“Oh, I’d be early for your funeral, believe me! Holding flowers and red balloons!”
His blue eyes gleamed as he came toward her in the shadows. She felt Josie quivering behind her, so as he reached for her, Bree forced herself not to flinch or back away.
“People don’t change,” he said softly. He pulled the duffel bag from her shoulder. Unzipping it, he turned away from her, and she exhaled. Then, as he went through the bag, she glared at him.
“What do you think I have in there—a rifle or something? Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s stuff?”
“A woman like you doesn’t need a rifle. You have all the feminine weapons you need. Beauty. Seduction. Deceit.” Vladimir gazed at her with eyes dark as a midnight sea. His handsome, chiseled face seemed made of granite. “A pity your charms don’t work on me.”
As she looked at him, her throat tightened. She whispered, “If you despise me so much, just let me go. Easier for you. Easier for everyone.”
His lips curved. “Is that the final item on your checklist?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve tried running, insulting me, accusing me of cheating, and now you’re reasoning with me.” Zipping up the bag, he pushed it back into her arms and looked at her coldly. “What’s next—begging for mercy?”
She held the bag over her heart like a shield. “Would it work?” she breathed. “If I begged you—on my knees—would you let me go?”
Reaching out, Vladimir cupped her cheek. He looked down at her almost tenderly. “No.”
She jerked her chin away. “I hate you!”
Vladimir gave a low, bitter laugh. “So you did have a checklist. It’s fascinating, really, how little you’ve changed.”
If only that were true, Bree thought. She didn’t have a plan. She was going on pure instinct. Ten years of living a scrupulously honest life, of scraping to get by on minimum-wage jobs, and taking care of her sister, had left Bree’s old skills of sleight of hand and deception laughably out-of-date. She was rusty. She was clumsy and awkward.
And Vladimir made it worse. He brought out her weakness. She couldn’t hide her feelings, even though she knew it would be to her advantage to cloak her hatred. But he’d long ago learned the secret ways past the guarded walls of her heart.
“You