Count on Love

Annie turned into the Harvard Arms, an apartment complex aspiring to be a dump with its faded rock-and-cactus garden, cracked windows and peeling paint. The 1992 Toyota she’d paid eight hundred dollars for when they repossessed her Mercedes looked like the newest vehicle in the lot. Annie parked and let the car idle, reluctant to get out.

“Is this where Grandpa lives?” Maddy asked.

“We can’t stay here.” Annie’s stomach soured. This was no place for her little girl. Why couldn’t she get a break?

“Is that Grandpa? He has whiskers.”

Sure enough, Brett trundled down the concrete steps from the second story with a huge smile on his gaunt, wrinkled face. His wavy hair was gray and sparse. The years hadn’t been kind. He looked far older than fifty-five.

“Annie!” He opened her car door, leaving her no choice but to turn off the engine and get out.

Her father grabbed her so tight that Annie felt his breath hitch, as if he might cry. Maybe she’d been wrong to keep her distance all these years…. Her doubt dissipated as her father held her at arm’s length with that half grin he always used to give her just before he announced his latest scheme.

No. Annie had had enough of scheming men.

Her dad released her and opened the rear door, leaning in to see his granddaughter better. “And this must be Maddy. With those blond curls and bright blue eyes, you’re as beautiful as your mother was at your age.” Then her father ruined it by adding, “Do you play cards, Maddy?”

“No.” Annie gave him a scathing look. “No cards.” When his face fell, she had no trouble remembering why she’d kept her distance for six years. She took a deep breath. “Let me look at your place. If it’s fine, I’ll only be gone an hour or two.” She unbuckled Maddy from her car seat. “I hope your bathroom is sanitary.”

“It’s not the Taj Majal, but it’s clean, I swear.” He led them upstairs, smiling in a way that made Annie realize how much this visit meant to him.

To her dismay, she noticed Maddy’s lips moving as she climbed. She was counting the number of stairs to the top. Annie placed her finger briefly on her daughter’s mouth and the little girl pressed her lips together.

“Did you lose the house, Dad?” Annie knew she shouldn’t have bought it for him. She’d hoped her father would have changed. He was probably still hanging out with the same crowd of “could-have-beens” who wagered every nickel on the flip of a card and didn’t seem to care where they lived, what they lost or if they had enough to retire on.

“This is only temporary.” He looked up as a jumbo jet barnstormed Harvard Arms on its way to land at McCarran International Airport and shrugged apologetically. “You get used to that.”

“SORRY, I GOT BACKLOGGED, Carl.” Sam set the stack of candidate files on the man’s desk. Carl Nunes, Slotto’s director of human resources, stared at Sam, who stood like a kid in the principal’s office awaiting sentencing.

“It’s all right. We haven’t gotten the drug testing results back for most of these, anyway.” The fluorescent lighting glinted off Carl’s bald head as he turned the pile around with his short, plump fingers. “I hadn’t realized your stack had gotten so large.”

Like hell he hadn’t. But Sam knew when to keep quiet. He turned away, pretending to admire the photos of Carl’s family on a bookshelf by the door. The older man had three girls with toothy grins. Sam swallowed and sat in one of Carl’s plastic visitor chairs, his back to the bookshelf.

“My practice is more demanding now.” Sam had spent the early part of the week out at Lake Mead with his WaveRunner, practicing jumps.

“Good for you. We’ll always be here for you, Sam…as long as you’re here for us.”

As hints went, it wasn’t very subtle. Sam mumbled something reassuring and stared at his boots. Background checks were a lucrative business Vince had gotten him into after their stint in the war. Too bad Sam had to deal with Mr. College Graduate, I’m-better-than-you types.

If he took that job for Mr. Patrizio—

“Any surprises?”

This was where Sam usually said no, unfolded his invoice, handed it to Carl and bolted for the exit. Carl was so used to the routine that he was already hefting the files onto the credenza behind him.

Sam leaned forward with a creak of plastic. “Actually, there’s a problem with one.”

Carl’s pale forehead wrinkled. “What kind of problem?”

“Annie Raye. She’s got an arrest record.”

“Annie? There must be some mistake.” Carl didn’t need to search for Annie’s file. Sam had kept it on top of the stack. “Everyone loves her. I already approved her moving expenses.”

Damn if Carl didn’t sound like the forgiving type. “She was arrested for embezzling. I think that makes her a bad choice as your new finance director.” Sam pulled the invoice out of his pocket, smoothed out the creases and set it on Carl’s fake-wood desktop. “Should I pick up more files from Winona on my way out?”

“YOU HAVE THREE DOORS in this house.” Maddy looked up with big, blue unblinking eyes from the ball of Play-Doh she was rolling. Her short blond hair curled around her ears with a wildness reminiscent of Annie’s at that age.

“Have you started school?” Brett asked, unable to stop smiling. His granddaughter was as sharp as a tack.

“I went for thirty-three days before we left to come here. I was in Mrs. Guichard’s kindergarten class. We had twenty-one chairs in room sixteen.” She fluffed up her cotton dress before studying him again as if he were a lab specimen. “You have a lot of whiskers. So many I don’t think I could count them all.” Maddy reached up and touched his stubbled cheek, her fingers soft and warm.

Brett chuckled. He could listen to her talk all day. And if he played his cards right, he’d be able to. “I bet you learned a lot in room sixteen.” And taught her teacher a thing or two.

Maddy nodded. “We learned about numbers and counting. How come I haven’t seen you before?”

Brett swallowed past a lump in his throat. “You lived so far away.”

“We have eight houses on our street. You never came to visit, even at Christmas. I would remember.”

Annie hadn’t wanted him to come. He’d only visited her once after she’d been married. Brett might have screwed up his relationship with Annie, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “The important thing is that you’re here now.”

His cell phone chimed.

“Where are you? I went by your house and you weren’t there.” Ernie’s anger vibrated through the phone.

Brett rented cheap, furnished apartments close to the Strip when he was working. He paid cash for the temporary space and registered under a different name. He’d been living in this dump for nearly a week. Being a career cardsharp was hard. If a casino identified him he’d be out of the game for good—banned with the aid of a security program that identified his features for the larger casinos, and a newsletter distributed to the smaller gaming houses.

“I needed a day off.” Brett tried to sound casual. He and his friends had just ten more days to raise twenty thousand dollars. He didn’t have time to sit and fiddle with Play-Doh, but he couldn’t let this opportunity with Maddy and Annie pass, either.

“Grandpa, I need yours.” Maddy stretched out her hand and waved it. He’d been helping her make a string of Play-Doh pearls on the coffee table.

“Who’s there with you?”

“No one.” Brett handed Maddy the dough ball and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. “It’s the TV.”

“Grandpa?” In the ensuing silence, Brett hoped he’d lost the connection. “She came back, didn’t she?”

“No.” Brett denied it too quickly. He’d wanted to ask Annie to help the moment she arrived, but she’d made it clear she disapproved of anything to do with cards. He clutched the small cell phone tighter. Although they could use her help, Brett didn’t want to risk losing her again. “Annie quit, remember? She won’t help us.”

“You shouldn’t assume anything. Chauncey needs this.”

Brett snapped the cell phone closed and returned to the living room. Chauncey might need money, but Brett needed his daughter back in his life. It was selfish of him to have wanted to see Annie again and to meet his granddaughter, foolish to think they could try to build a relationship when he’d agreed to such high stakes.

“How about an ice cream?”

“Isn’t Mommy going to be home soon?”

But Brett didn’t answer. He was too busy grabbing his car keys.