Unlucky (5 page)

Mallory felt her back tighten and she clenched her duffel bag until her hand ached. "I thought you would finish your thesis by playing a nice round of cards with some businessmen at a large casino in New Orleans. Not sign up as a dealer for my uncle, a man of questionable legal status at best, and certainly not against the players he's lined up."

Amy blinked, then stared at Mallory in obvious confusion.

Mallory tossed the duffel bag onto the couch next to them and threw her hands up in exasperation, causing Amy to jump. "He didn't tell you, did he?" She tried to keep her voice low but barely succeeded.

"I guess not."

"Damn it to hell!" Mallory ranted, and the other women in the lobby stared at them. Before she caused a scene in front of witnesses, she pointed to the exit, giving Amy no choice but to head outside. "My uncle has lined up a bunch of criminals, heavy hitters, for this tournament," she continued once the doors slid shut behind them. "He's up to something and it can't possibly be pleasant. You have absolutely no business getting in the middle of it."

Amy's eyes widened. "Oh, my God."

"You have to back out," Mallory said, and yanked her cell phone from her pocket. "Either you call or I will. Pretend you never showed up and get the heck out of here. There's no way I'm letting you back on that floating prison block."

The expression on Amy's face went from frightened to pure misery in under a second. "I can't back out. I used my tuition money to buy in as a dealer. If I don't make it back, I can't graduate."

Mallory groaned. "How can someone as smart as you constantly do things as stupid as this? It's like you manage to find the one thing you should never be involved in and you're the first in line to sign up."

"I'm a math genius, Mallory. I guess that doesn't translate to street smarts, so I'm sorry to have offended your redneck rules of play for criminal activity. This wasn't exactly something my instructors covered in finishing school."

"They didn't cover it because you were supposed to be married off at twenty to some rich doctor or lawyer or politician and spend the rest of your life folding napkins into swans like your parents intended."

"My parents don't have a clue what's important to me and never have. And don't tell me I should have fallen into their plans. You, with a master's in engineering, and you only use it to tear things up."

Mallory opened her mouth to protest but Amy held one hand up to stop her.

"Let me finish," Amy said, and pointed at Mallory. "You've spent your entire life making your own way exactly how you wanted to and that's why I admire you so much. I'm not going to believe for a moment that you think I should give up my dreams and marry some short, fat, balding man twice my age just to have a 'good life' and please my parents."

Mallory shoved her hands in her jeans' pockets and studied the dark wood floor planks for a moment before raising her gaze back to her friend. "I didn't say you should follow your parents' way, Amy, but c'mon, poker at my uncle's casino? Isn't there another way to prove your genius besides pissing off men who probably won't deal with things by quitting and having a beer?"

Amy waved her hands in frustration. "You think I haven't already tried? I can't make it through two or three hands at a casino table before everyone leaves. One of the dealers in New Orleans said men generally don't like to play with a woman."

"Probably not," Mallory conceded. "Especially if the woman looks like she's twelve and is whipping their butts at cards."

Amy grinned. "They're all going to be very sorry when I'm running the country one day."

Mallory stared at Amy in surprise. "What the heck are you talking about? You thinking about running for president?"

"Please, the president doesn't run the country, his economic advisor does. He who controls the money has the power."

Mallory laughed. "You want to be Alan Greenspan, Jr.?
Good God, Amy, it would probably be easier to be elected president."

"Exactly. Which is why this tournament is not an option. I have to finish my thesis by the end of next semester or I can't apply for PhD candidacy. And that will be a little hard to do without the money to pay for school." Amy shot her one final belligerent look, then shrugged. "Besides, I hate swans. And napkins."

Mallory was unable to stop the smile that quivered on her lips even though her world had just gotten even more complicated than she'd ever thought it could. "Fine, so you'll deal at the Criminal Poker Tournament of the decade." She stood up straight and stared down at her friend, pointing one finger at her. "But you
will
be careful--painfully so--and you will not incite any anger whatsoever in these men."

Amy relaxed visibly as she realized Mallory wasn't going to push the issue beyond a butt-chewing, at least until the tournament was over. "You really ought to be nicer to me, you know."

"Oh, really? And why would I want to do something like that?"

Amy grinned. "Because if I wanted, I could be your aunt. Reginald proposed to me after I took him at cards."

Mallory smiled. "Probably a sure thing compared to that whole Alan Greenspan plan. Let's face it--with the company he keeps, sooner or later someone is going to pop dear Uncle Reginald. And you could inherit all this." She waved a hand at the dilapidated casino.

"Yuck," Amy said. "Even if your uncle was like, the Robert Redford of Royal Flush, do you really think I'd give it a moment's thought after that whole midget thing?"

Mallory stared at her friend. "Am I the only person who doesn't know about the midget?"

Amy laughed. "Probably, but if you Google--"

"I don't even want to know. You're already in this neck-deep. Don't make me change my mind by giving me the gory details of what a perv my uncle is."

"You're one to talk," Amy shot back. "You stand here telling me to walk on eggshells but since I know you're not here for a demolition that can only mean you're working, too."

Mallory frowned and shook her head. "It's not the same for me."

"Why not?"

"I know how to manipulate criminals. I was raised by them."

Since her run-in with Amy had set her a bit behind schedule, Mallory hurried into the ladies' room and changed her outfit with lightning speed. Fortunately, Reginald hadn't been overly picky about the dress code--any combination of black and something else would do as long as it was thin, clingy and short.

She still had a black spandex micromini from her prior cooling days, and the skirt coupled with a thin lacy tank top and short cropped black jacket did quite nicely. Add to that the reinforced stilettos from the bar and she was ready for action.

In the looks department anyway.

She did a quick study of herself in the full-length mirror of the bathroom, then grabbed her long black hair and twisted it into a knot on top of her head. Turning from side to side, she viewed the effect and decided she was satisfied. She could always pull the pin out and let her hair down later if a bit of distraction was needed for the players. In the meantime, she enjoyed the cooler air on her with the thick mass lifted. The early morning humidity was already taking its toll on her skin.

She stuffed her jeans and T-shirt along with her makeup bag into the duffel bag. But as she lifted the bag from the bathroom counter, the strap broke completely off one side and everything dumped onto the floor.

Cursing both the handle and the zipper, which had stripped this morning as she was packing, she retrieved her items and tossed them into an open locker along with the semidestroyed bag. She took one final look in the mirror--dusted some face powder off her shoulders and straightened her skirt hem--then slammed the locker door shut and strode out into the lobby, ready to take on the world.

Or Reginald St. Claire.

Her uncle stood just outside the ladies' room and in her rush to make it to the casino, she'd almost run into the cigar he was never without.

"About time you got out here," he said, frowning. "I need a word with you before we begin. Wanted to make sure we're clear on your payment terms."

Here we go
. Mallory fixed her uncle with a hard stare. "I don't believe I stuttered one bit when we talked. I shut down the table, you pay me ten grand. I don't shut down the table, you pay the same as the other attendants." It wasn't the greatest deal in the world. In fact, it pretty much sucked. But according to Reginald, it was the best he could offer, and Mallory got the feeling that he was telling the truth.

"I don't have a problem paying the money if you deliver the goods. Hell, you'll save me ten times that. That's not the problem." He puffed once on the cigar, then yanked it from his mouth, his face starting to redden.

"That asshole Silas Hebert is here. I'm putting you on his table and I don't care if you have to stab him with a kitchen knife. Just keep him from winning any of my money."

Mallory felt as if she'd just been sucker punched. Her hands involuntarily clenched, and she could feel her lower back starting to tighten. Certainly, she'd been prepared for something to go wrong--this was Reginald St. Claire she was dealing with. But Silas Hebert? How in the world had her uncle allowed that to happen? Surely, he was pulling her leg. But one look at Reginald, puffing his cigar like an asthmatic on an inhaler, let her know he wasn't joking.

"Why in God's name would you invite Silas Hebert?" Mallory asked.

Reginald waved his cigar in the air. "I didn't--" Reginald stopped abruptly. "That's not really your concern," he said finally, squaring off his shoulders and pulling himself up to full height. "I'm just giving you warning. I'm not the least bit worried about the rest of the players. You could cool them in your sleep. But Silas Hebert better not leave my casino a winner."

He shoved the cigar back in his mouth, spun around as fast as his large frame would let him and waved at her over his shoulder. "Come with me. You need to meet your dealer."

Mallory stared at him for a moment before following. Silas Hebert? Silas Hebert was the closest thing Louisiana had to a professional gambler, and he was all the way at the top of the ladder of professional crooks. Not to mention that her entire family hated the man for reasons she'd never known and never wanted to.

Why in the world would Silas be at her uncle's tournament?

She followed Reginald across the casino toward the card tables. He'd started to say something. I
didn't
. Didn't what? Didn't invite Silas?

But that would make no sense. If Reginald hadn't invited Silas, he could just ask him to leave. After all, this was a private game. And if he had invited him, why did he seem so angry about it now when he should have known it was coming for weeks?

I didn't.

She stared after her uncle and shook her head, somehow knowing already that whatever Reginald
didn't
do was going to be an enormous problem.

From his blackjack table across the room, Jake stared at the set of legs attached to the woman talking to Reginald St. Claire and decided they were a work of art. Lean but toned, tan but not that rusty-looking tan. No, this lady had spent some quality time outdoors in regular sunlight. The stiletto heels made the muscle in her calf ripple as she shifted her weight from one foot to another and it pulled all the way up into her rear, the muscles of her nice, round butt flexing as she repositioned.