For His Daughter

“He looks like trouble, DeeDee. Be careful.”

“Jealous?”

“Hell, no. Just wondering how a bright girl like you can end up being just another dumb hairdo on heels.”

He saw something flash in her eyes that might have been discomfort, but it was gone in an instant.

She shrugged. “Maybe I just got tired of missing out on what some of the other girls have.”

He couldn’t resist a tight laugh. “If it’s a little fun in bed you’re after, I can try to squeeze you in.”

“Tell me something, Oz,” she said softly. “Is there anyone you admire as much as yourself?”

“No,” he admitted. He let her see his gaze travel over her. “Want to find out why?”

“No, thanks. Your reputation precedes you, and I’d rather eat ground glass.”

She was a tough one, all right. He tried a different angle. “You realize that working the guests is strictly against casino policy?”

“Suddenly you’re a rule follower?”

“I guess I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but he realized he meant it.

“Aww…what a sweetie,” she said in a voice that sounded like syrup sliding out of a pitcher. Then her brows lowered. “Now get lost. Go chase the card manipulators and leave me alone.” Hair Plugs’s hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned with a big smile. “Gil, honey! What took you so long? Should I be jealous?”

Rafe stepped away and left her to her conquest. There was something about the guy he didn’t like— some small meanness around the eyes—but what else could he do? He had bigger worries.

He spent another ten minutes watching the shark on table four continue to rake in chips. The guy seemed completely at ease. No nervous hand movements. No darting glances. Just steady, methodical betting that might eventually leave Native Sun bleeding green big time.

Annoyed, Rafe cut a glance in DeeDee’s direction to see how she was making out. Her date offered her a highball glass full of amber liquid that Rafe assumed was whiskey. Neat, he noticed. No ice.

DeeDee swallowed it down. He suspected she wasn’t really much of a drinker. In Vegas, you got to where you could spot the problem drinkers on sight, and she wasn’t the type.

But in another few minutes, Rafe’s suspicious nature went into overdrive.

Up until now, DeeDee had been friendly to her date—little touches here, a whispered laugh in the guy’s ear there—but suddenly she seemed completely out of control.

She was loose limbed enough to slide under the craps table, and her date had to keep her upright, fastened against him with a hammy hand against her rib cage. She rubbed against him. There was nothing coordinated about her actions. They weren’t natural. They weren’t normal.

Had Hair Plugs added something to her drink?

Just when Rafe thought the guy would lose his hold on DeeDee, another man approached to add his support. The men seemed to know one another. DeeDee’s head flopped back, and the two guys laughed over her, as though sharing the same stupid joke.

Mickey was suddenly at his side again. “No spotters, boss. What now?” He frowned, realizing that Rafe’s attention had wandered. “What’s the matter?”

Rafe turned his attention back to Mickey. Concentrate on what you get paid to do.

And then suddenly everything clicked. “Ah, hell,” he swore under his breath. “He’s counting cards.”

Mickey scowled. “Nah. He’s not even watching the shoe half the time.”

“He doesn’t have to watch the cards coming out of the shoe. He can see them in the whiskey glass by his left elbow. His buddy has been nursing that drink for over an hour. Our friend is reading the cards in the reflection of the glass.”

Mickey nodded. “Nice catch,” he said. Rafe was clearly his hero once more. “We gonna escort him out?”

With that mystery solved, Rafe looked back to see the two men moving DeeDee away from the craps table. She looked more and more like a puppet who’d had her strings cut, hanging limply between them and smiling vacantly.

They were headed toward the bank of elevators. Once they got upstairs, DeeDee was going to find herself flat on her back in one of their hotel rooms.

Go after her.

Shut up, he told his brain. I’m not getting paid to save the world.

“You ready?” Mickey said beside him.

He nodded, heading toward their cheater. “Let’s do it.”

“I love this part.”

Rafe couldn’t resist one final look back. Hair Plugs had DeeDee propped up against the wall by the elevator. Giggling, she reached out with a finger and played it down the guy’s cheek. Beside him, his friend laughed and kissed her. She frowned, as though suddenly realizing that she had herself two asses to deal with instead of one. The card mechanic on four wasn’t the only one in for a surprise tonight.

Rafe pulled up short, yanking Mickey back as well. “Mickey, go do the honors with our cheat, would you? Make sure he gets the spiel about us filing trespassing charges if he ever shows his face in here again.”

“Me?” Mickey’s eyes went huge. “All by myself?”

“You know the drill. Consider it on-the-job training.”

The elevator had arrived. DeeDee was getting manhandled onto it. Just another drunk who needed to be put to bed, people would think.

Mickey looked stunned. “Oldman ain’t gonna like that. Wait a minute! Where are you going?” he said in a low voice as Rafe took off in the direction of the elevators.

“Business,” Rafe called over one shoulder. I’m going to lose my job because one idiot female doesn’t know when she’s playing with fire.

But he didn’t stop.

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WERE TIMES IN LIFE that called for begging.

This was one of those times.

Danielle Bridgeton looked across her desk at the state editor of the Denver Daily Telegraph, the newspaper she worked for. She lowered her head, sighed dramatically and pasted on her best wounded-puppy look. “Please, Gary,” she said, softly pleading with him to understand. “Get me out of here. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

Gary Newsome shook his head sadly. “You know, when I was young I used to dream about a beautiful woman saying that to me.”

Gary was fifty-something, bald and complained frequently of acid reflux. He was the most honest newspaperman Dani knew. He was also torturing her.

Dani steepled her fingers. A nun couldn’t have seemed more penitent. “Look at me, Gary. This is me, begging.”