The One Who Got Away

“This is more interesting,” he said. “You can learn a lot about people by watching them gamble.”

“Really?”

“See that man at the Wheel of Fortune?”

She followed his gaze and nodded when she saw the portly fellow standing next to his stool, feeding a bill into the machine. He didn’t look as if he was having a very good time. In fact, his heavy brows furrowed to match his scowl, his scalp, bald all the way back to the crown of his head, was beaded with sweat. His light cotton shirt was stretched across his ample beer belly, and there were large circles of sweat under his arms. He ignored the pull lever, pushing the maximum-bet button with the palm of his hand. As the wheels spun, his lips moved. Probably a prayer, and then a curse as he got nothing, nothing, nothing.

“He isn’t having much luck,” Sarah observed.

“No, it doesn’t appear he is. You know that every time he pushes the button, it’s two dollars.”

“Oh.”

“And since we’ve been watching him, he’s pressed that button what, twelve times? That’s twenty-four dollars. He was standing there before we sat down.”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of money.”

“He’s not holding a bucket, so no winnings.”

“Yikes.”

“Indeed. What else do you see?”

While Sarah studied the scene, he turned to Taylor. “You realize, of course,” he whispered, “you’re not going to get away with this unscathed.”

“What?” she asked, batting her eyelashes like the soul of innocence while she inched her toes up his calf.

“Whatever you had planned this afternoon? Cancel it.”

Her cheeks became pink and the gaze that met his was full of anticipation and excitement. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have to meet my mother.”

“Meet her later.”

“You presume, Mr. Bowman.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he leaned over so his lips were an inch from the soft shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you beg for mercy.”

She inhaled sharply, grabbed her cards with trembling fingers.

Sarah, to his left, said, “Hey.”

He held back his grin as he turned to his young friend. “Yes?”

“He’s got a whole bunch of glasses stacked there. And he’s kind of swaying,” Sarah said.

“Which means?”

“He’s toasted. And scared. He’s lost a whole bunch of money and he’s trying to win it back.”

“Excellent.”

“Cool.”

“It pays to be observant.”

It was Sarah’s turn to grin. “Like seeing that you two aren’t from London at all. That you’ve been playing footsie for about ten minutes, and that while I’m not positive your name isn’t James, it sure as heck isn’t Bond.”

Taylor laughed. Angel grinned, and it wasn’t because she’d dealt herself twenty-one.

“Very good, Sarah. If you ever get tired of post-production, you’d make a good detective.”

She smiled, mightily pleased with herself. “Is that what you really do?”

He held out his hand. “Ben Bowman, Private Detective.”

She shook his hand, but her gaze went to Taylor. “Are you a P.I., too?”

“I’m a paralegal, which isn’t half as interesting.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Are you playing, sir?”

Ben realized he’d abandoned his cards altogether. He slipped two five dollar chips into the rectangle, and put another five above it, playing the bet for the dealer.

Taylor and Sarah both straightened, made their own bets, and each of them followed suit in tipping Angel. It turned out well for everyone. Angel busted with twenty-four.

“It’s almost noon,” Taylor said. “My mother’s going to be here in an hour.”

He shoved his whole stack of chips toward the center of the table. “Cash me in, please.”

Taylor’s laughter was as intoxicating as the drink that arrived while he waited for his chips.

“Still want to cash out?” Taylor asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“But our drinks…”

“Are portable.”

“Good point.”

Sarah sighed. “You guys are so lucky. How wonderful to be in love in Las Vegas.”

Ben froze, Taylor cleared her throat and Angel wasn’t at all successful in hiding a knowing grin.

Taylor pushed her chips in after Ben got his money back. “We are lucky, thank you. But we’re actually here for my brother’s wedding.”