Burned Hearts (18 page)

“
You
?” he demanded. Roared, actually. Then very slowly and succinctly said, “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

I'd heard a similar sentiment from him before. It didn't give me pause.

“Kyle. We've had this discussion. You won't get squat out of Wayne because you're too aggressive, too threatening. I, however, can use the ploy of being taken aback to see him, intimidated, slightly terrified. He'll buy that and won't think for a second that I'm recording my conversation with him.”

“Ari,” Kyle said with exasperation in his tone. “There's a very good chance he murdered those three guys—his brother, even! You think he's going to let little ol' you trip him up?”

“Most everyone has underestimated him, but not me. And he doesn't know we've actually figured him out. Though we really ought to act fast, before he thinks we have a chance to put the alive Horton and the dead Horton together.”

Folding his arms over his massive chest, my friend demanded, “And what about Bax Junior? You're going to willingly put yourself in jeopardy when you now have a son?”

“Kyle!” It was a bit of a low blow, but I reminded him, “We'll have the FBI with us!”

“There is
no way
Amano is going to let you out of the house if he believes you're up to something.”

“He won't know. You take one of the FBI agents and stake out the casino again, to see if Wayne has returned and what his pattern is. Then we'll have Rosa schedule a grocery run at the same time Wayne's at the casino. Amano always takes her, sometimes with Amsel. We'll make sure of it on this particular trip.”

“Ari. Goddamn it,” Kyle said as our gazes locked.

“This is foolproof.”

His intense look didn't waver. “I do not like how devious your mind has become.”

“Why? Because it's a little too similar to
your
devious mind?”

He stormed out.

I took that as his acquiescence.

 

chapter 10

Our day of reckoning came all too quickly and my nerves were jangled. I figured that would work in my favor. As long as Wayne wasn't on to me—and my anxiety would definitely prove I wasn't in some cocky frame of mind over confronting him—I could likely get him talking. The FBI would get the information they needed. Justice might actually be served when it came to the Asshole.

The stakeout agents, Johnson and Price, hadn't been difficult to win over. Babysitting the creek house bored them to tears; I could see it in their eyes. Plus, they'd taken an interest in the Vegas developments. They wanted to nail Wayne just as much as the rest of us did.

So one dreary afternoon Kyle and I sat in an SUV atop a hill adjacent to Cliff Castle Casino, also perched on a hill in the Camp Verde area. While he popped Tater Tots, since we were parked at a drive-in space at Sonic, he surveyed the casino with binoculars.

Mid-day on Tuesdays seemed to be the prime time for Wayne to hit the poker tables. The older folks who didn't plop down enough of their Social Security to waste time on were heading to their early-bird dinners, and the evening crowd of carefree revelers hadn't yet rolled in. The rounders were upping their own antes and getting rousing games going that would lure a few unsuspecting suckers to take advantage of.

All of this was relayed by Kyle, who'd spent some time at the tables himself. Apparently, he'd learned a thing or two in Monte Carlo that had funded half of his summer backpacking excursion through Europe and a first-class upgrade back to the States. I didn't ask who'd been the pretty girl to give him the pointers.

“So,” he instructed, “you just stay outside the casino, right by the valet station, in broad daylight, where I—and everyone else—can see you. If Horton asks you to talk inside or in his car, just blow him off. Pretend you're rattled by the unexpected sight of him. Walk away.”

“Got it.” The FBI had grilled me incessantly already, with every
what if
scenario under the sun.

What will you do if…?

What will you say if…?

What happens if…?

Granted, they had a lot on the line. The wrath of Amano and Dane included, if anything went wrong. Even if it didn't, everyone knew we'd be in hot water as soon as the stoic and stoicer found out about this latest field trip.

Dane and Amano might be impassive when it came to some of my more harebrained thoughts and ideas, but they both seethed beneath the surface at times. And if that simmering erupted—

Panic ran through my veins and I shuddered. Especially when I knew Dane's vulnerability over not being the hero husband (in his mind) that I believed him to be. That was definitely a sensitive subject that needed to be addressed after all was said and done with this Wayne Horton and secret-society bullshit.

“You're nervous,” Kyle commented.

“Of course I'm nervous. Dane is going to be monumentally pissed off.”

“Yeah, I'm sleeping with one eye open from here on out.”

“I'll tell them it was all my doing. That you had to go along with it to keep me out of trouble.”

“Right. They'll
so
believe that.”

I wrung my hands in my lap. Kyle popped a few more Tots.

“How can you possibly eat at a time like this?” My stomach churned.

“Eating's never the problem. Taking a few intentional blows to the ribs in my next karate session with Amano will be the problem.”

“Might want to lay low for a while. Till he cools down.”

“You really think he has an off switch?”

“Doubtful.”

Yes, Kyle and I were digging a very deep hole for ourselves. But I was convinced this was the most viable plan. No one else was going to corner Wayne and get him to admit to the tsunami-worthy waves of destruction he'd left in his wake. I wasn't a hundred percent certain I could do it, either. Not even 50 percent sure. But I optimistically clung to the 49, having no other strategy.

An FBI investigation could be drawn out for months. Wayne was too crafty and I had a feeling he'd covered his tracks well. Again, that was why the Feds weren't sniffing around him. They'd wanted Vale. Not Wayne.

But if I could give them Wayne—

“Hop to over there,” Kyle suddenly said to me. The FBI was listening in, since I was already wired. “Horton just pulled under the porte cochere to valet park. He's wearing a red T-shirt, untucked. Denim jacket. Jeans and aviator glasses. Prick.”

“He has every reason to be arrogant. So far, he's gotten away with murder and blowing up a luxury multi-billion-dollar hotel.”

“Wouldn't be surprised if he's got offshore accounts galore.”

“Doesn't he have to launder the money he's collected from Vale?”

“Beats the fuck out of me,” Kyle said. “I don't get that part at all. Like, why couldn't Walt and Sky spend their drug money on
Breaking Bad,
but it worked out fine for her to hand over six hundred and some odd
thousand
dollars to the guy she'd had an affair with in order for him to pay the IRS? The IRS didn't wonder where the hell he came up with that kind of dough?”

“It's a TV show, you two,” Price interjected.

I sighed. “Amano's right. We watch way too much Netflix.”

Kyle lowered his binoculars and consulted the clock on the dash. “You have an hour and ten minutes until he comes out of the casino.” That was precisely how long Wayne would sit at a table, win or lose. It was the only thing he did with any sort of predictability. “Sure you don't want a hamburger?”

“Why not?”

I nibbled while keeping my eye on the clock. As we inched toward showtime, I wrapped up the half-eaten burger and spruced up. Grabbed my
Poker for Dummies
–type CliffsNotes and willed my hands not to shake as I clutched it.

Kyle backed out of our space and headed down the hill, navigated the roundabout, and drove up the road to Cliff Castle. He parked in the east lot. One of our agents was in the west lot and the other had left his car under the valet ramada as he loitered by the entrance, sitting on a bench and reading the paper. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Plenty of people had stepped out for some fresh air and a break from pouring their money into the slots.

I'd be lying if I didn't find the intrigue a bit exhilarating. Maybe it was because I felt I had decent coverage with Kyle and the agents. Maybe it was because this was
my
revenge. If I could help to nail Wayne, I'd get a bit of vindication after all he'd done to us.

That did not quell my fear over how badly I could screw this up—or how furious Dane and Amano would be when they discovered what we'd done, or attempted to do.

But I simply couldn't step away from the flame. Dane had taught me to be tough, to stand my ground, to stay strong. Amano had as well. Kyle, too.

So I took a few calming breaths as I lingered around the corner of the building, waiting for Agent Price's cue from his bench. He'd alert me as to when to head to the entrance.

I waited impatiently. It seemed as though a few too many minutes ticked by.

“Kyle, what time is it?” I whispered into the mic implanted in my bra.

“Take it easy.” I heard him through the tiny earpiece my long hair covered. Thankfully, it was a moderate day, temperature-wise. Gloomy, but not windy or rainy. No storm to create disruptive background noise or gusts to blow my hair back, away from my ear.

“Are you sure we didn't miss him coming out?” I wondered.

“Not a chance,” Price said. “He must be winning.”

I paced along the walkway. Amano had told us Wayne didn't break stride with his gambling routine. I would have guessed he'd slipped out the side entrance, but Kyle would have seen him, since that was the lot where he'd parked.

My exhilaration waned, to be replaced by apprehension. The more appropriate response, I knew. I shouldn't have been excited over this confrontation to begin with. Now I worried whether it would even happen.

I forced myself not to mangle the booklet in my hands. I smiled at passersby, practiced looking normal, not paranoid or guilty as sin because I was up to something.

Be cool, Ari. Breathe. Maybe Dane won't kill you. Amano will understand, right? It's all for the greater good, the—

“Game on,” Price suddenly said.

I snapped to attention. Took one more deep breath.

Then I rounded the building and headed toward the entrance, my attention on the manual in my hands that I'd flipped open. I mumbled to myself about the difference between the river and the turn, and various betting techniques.

“Now,” Price instructed.

I closed the booklet, tried to look completely overwhelmed from my crash course, and then allowed my gaze to fall on Wayne Horton.

I gasped and jumped back, my eyes widening as I did a double take for emphasis. I prayed I looked shocked—and petrified. The latter wasn't actually too far-fetched.

“Wayne Horton. What the hell are
you
doing here?” I demanded, letting my voice break.

“I could ask you the same question. Slumming, Ari?”

I ground my teeth. “Boredom without a job is more like it.” I shook my head, as though annoyed with myself that I was actually starting a conversation with this man. I stepped around him and headed to the door but then pulled up short and whirled around. “You know, you've got some nerve staying in town.”

He raised his hands casually in the air. “It's a free country.”

“Asshole!” I blurted with sufficient angst. I closed the gap between us, moving in much closer than I'd been schooled.

“Ari, back up,” came Price's warning.

I didn't heed it. Instead, I lowered my voice, though dropped my chin so I effectively spoke into the hidden mic, and said, “You should be long, long gone after all that you've done.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. It was all Vale. Every little bit.” Wayne gave me his criminal smile, the one he'd flashed while distracting me so that I'd climbed into the Venom F5 at the Lux, thinking it was Dane's car when in actuality it'd been Vale behind the wheel. “And what trouble has there been since he became a stain on the front of a train? None.”

“Oh, let me refresh your memory,” I argued. And took a stab in the dark: “Tom Talbot?”

With a shake of his head, he said, “I have no idea who or what you're talking about.”

Okay, this was going to be more difficult than I'd guessed. In my mind, I'd convinced myself that Wayne would want to take credit for his ploys, gloat over how ingenious he'd been. The Heisenberg Effect, I'd contended when I'd explained to Dane that bad guys oftentimes fucked up because of their own ego, their own need for glory. I'd be dumping
Breaking Bad
from my queue the second I returned home.

If
I returned home.

“So Tom didn't let you on to the estate grounds to plant two rattlers on my patio?” I demanded. I didn't broach the subject of the watchtower guard pointing a gun at me—and Dane—in the event Tom hadn't discussed with Wayne the way things had gone awry. I didn't know what the follow-up had been on their end, so I played dumb for the moment and tried to engage him with a less hostile topic.

He slid his glasses off and tucked an arm into the neck of his T-shirt. “Let's just say that your boyfriend's security isn't nearly as solid as he once believed.” A glint of mischief in his beady brown eyes chilled me.

But I latched on to a golden nugget. He didn't know Dane and I were married?

Sure, we'd covered our tracks well. Apparently well enough that Wayne hadn't learned the truth.

I did some quick mental calculations and determined that unless he'd been watching me closely in very recent months he wouldn't have known I was pregnant, either. I hadn't started showing until later on, and no one else knew, not even Tom. At least, not until the kitchen/shooting incident.