Betting on Hope (17 page)

“You lemme me know if you spot something,” Frelly called after Tanner as he headed toward Marty.

“Sure thing,” Tanner called back. Marty had stopped, seemingly engrossed in a blackjack table.

“Concierge desk,” Tanner said as he brushed by Marty without stopping. Five minutes later both men stood at the concierge rack, perusing brochures for helicopter flights over Hoover Dam.

“That was Frelly, my FBI shadow,” Tanner said. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to meet him.”

Marty glanced up. “We’re not doing nothing wrong.”

“No. But you’re not on probation.” Tanner looked at him when Marty didn’t respond. “Are you?”

“No. Dammit. Is this going to be a problem? You scoping the tables for Hope? I don’t want her getting into trouble because of you. What did he want?”

“He wanted to know if I’d seen anybody from out of town who could be connected to organized crime.”

Marty the Sneak flinched.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too, but he meant somebody named Johnny Red.”

Marty relaxed. “He’s the Russian wants to take over Big Julie’s territory. He’s out here now? He planning to go after Big Julie?”

“Frelly had a tip that Johnny the Red is here, that’s all he said. Nothing about killing. But I’d bet good money he’s not out here to see Hoover Dam.”

Marty put the brochure for the helicopter ride back into the rack. “Well. That makes the game more complicated. Because I’ve had some, ah, business dealings with Big Julie, and it would be in my best interest to keep him alive, if possible.”

“Mine too.”

The two men eyed each other.

“Okay,” Marty said finally. “Enough said. Let’s go watch us some tables.”

Chapter 12

At three-fifteen, Hope was still sitting at the table in the Casbah, now twenty-five thousand dollars to the good. She watched Bob Olsson, a very successful professional player and the chip leader in this game, lick his lips. She didn’t need Tanner to tell her that the chip leader was nervous.

She led the betting. Not the best position to be in. She had only a jack high. Not the best hole cards. It was her last hand before she had to go meet Baby. She had a healthy chip count. She could get out now and be proud of what she’d earned today. Twenty-five thousand dollars was
great.
Anybody—the uncles, Tanner, even Phil Hellmuth—
anybody
would be proud of earning that much money in one day.

Bob had about thirty-five thousand dollars in chips. So he had the depth to challenge anyone. He bet last—the best position. Still, he’d licked his lips.

He definitely was nervous.

What did that mean? If he had a bad hand, why would that make him nervous? He could just fold. No real money lost. If he had a great hand, he could just go for it. If he had a mediocre hand—would that make him nervous?

Two mediocre hands, fighting it out. Hardly the stuff of romantic poker legend. She bet, a nice conservative bet.

The play went around. Bob called.

Hope watched the flop. A king, a nine, a two. That combined with what she had in her hand, could go somewhere.

She considered Bob. He was still nervous. The flop hadn’t relieved his anxiety. What could he be holding? She felt herself breathe, felt a humming in her brain. She could win this. If she played her cards right. If she had some luck. If Bob bought her bluff. If she could convince him of the kind of hand
she
held.

She checked.

The chip leader toyed with his chips, letting them flow through his fingers. Hope kept her eyes locked on the dealer, but she could tell through her peripheral vision that Bob glanced at her, trying to read her.

Hope wished she’d gotten the glasses and hat. What had she been thinking? She needed to disguise her face more. Today when she went shopping with Baby, that’s what she’d buy. A giant hat. A
sombrero
. And sunglasses only Mr. Magoo could love.

The chip leader pushed ten thousand dollars’ worth of chips into the center of the table.

He thinks he has a better hand than I do. He might. What’s the best he could have?
Hope glanced at Bob. His lips were slightly pursed. Hope thought about it. She called.

The card on the turn improved Hope’s hand again.

Hope checked. The chip leader checked.

The last card, the card on the river, did nothing for her. Hope checked again.

Bob openly stared at her this time. Hope resolutely looked away. By checking on the turn and the river, she’d given up her chance to bet again. She wanted the leader to take advantage of that.

Go for it, Bob.

The chip leader shoved all his chips into the center of the table—about twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth.

“All in,” he said.

She had him.
Maybe. Bob was counting on having a better hand than she did. He’d been lead to believe that he did because, although Hope had stayed in the game, she hadn’t bet or raised. She couldn’t have been that confident of her cards.

And, because she had the second most number of chips, by going all in, if he won—
when
he won—he could wipe her out with this one hand. He wouldn’t have to play her for hours, whittling her down.

Anyway, that’s what she hoped he thought.

Of course, he truly might have a better hand than she did. Hope inhaled deeply and felt her heartbeat slow. If he had the better hand, she just lost everything she’d won tonight. Twenty-five thousand dollars, gone.

If she lost, she’d be back to square one.

Hope turned over her cards. The chip leader groaned.

Hope’s king, queen, and nine from the board combined with her own jack and ten to give her a straight, beating the chip leader’s three queens.

Hope was up by fifty thousand dollars.

A thrill of joy bloomed in her chest and spread through her bloodstream, going straight to her head.
She’d done it!
She’d won
fifty thousand
dollars in four hours. She’d
won!
And the ranch—well, her stake in Big Julie’s game, anyway—was that much closer. Maybe she could do this after all.

She managed to keep her expression neutral. “Thank you for the game,” she said to the table, standing up and shaking hands all around, tipping the dealer. “I’m sorry I have to leave for another appointment.”

As she rose, gathering her chips and bag, she turned and saw the uncles and Tanner Wingate, standing just outside the card room, all watching her and grinning.

“Way to go, Hope!” Marty said.

“Bing-bing-bing!” said Sharp Eddie Toombs.

“Yowza,” said Isaiah Rush. “Bobby Olsson. Good going!”

“Hell of a game,” Pete Wisniewski said.

“We knew you could do it,” Weary Blastell said.

“That was an astonishing display of card mastery and concealment, comparable only to play seen at the highest echelons,” Jim Thickpenny said. “You are to be congratulated on your outstanding performance.”

Hope walked over to them, beaming. She could feel the bounce in her step.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, hugging first Marty and then going down the line, hugging each uncle in turn. When she got to Tanner, she hesitated.

“You’re not going to hug me?” he asked.  “I helped.” He was smiling, and she knew he was teasing, but for an instant, she thought she saw something else reflected in his brown eyes.

Hope put her arms around him and hugged him.
My first mistake today,
she realized.

Tanner was tall, a lot taller than she was, which was way too appealing. And he had broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. And his back, as she put her arms around him, was warm, the fabric of his blue chambray shirt smooth under her fingers. Even after a long day in the casino, he still smelled fresh, like soap and mint. With her head pressed against his chest, she could hear the steady thump of his heart. His hands were big and strong around her, holding her close. His thumbs circled slowly on her back, gently feeling out the bumps in her spine. She liked it. It felt hypnotic. She could feel his cheek resting against her hair. She liked that, too. It had been a long time since she’d broken up with her last boyfriend. He’d been smart with a dry sense of humor, but he’d had no sense of the physical.

Tanner had a
great
sense of the physical.

The thought flooded her mind with panic.

No, no, no!
No physical!
No distractions! No card players! No broken hearts!

With an effort, Hope lurched away, feeling her own heart pound in her chest, knowing she looked flushed.

“Little Hope?” Sharp Eddie asked, looking confused. “Are you all right?”

“What’s wrong?” Tanner asked, dropping his hands, a question in his eyes. Those melting brown eyes, darker than the very best chocolate. Why hadn’t she ever noticed what color his eyes were?

“That was an incredible bluff,” Weary said. “That your hand was
worse
than it was. All that checking so he’d stay in the game.”

“Learned from the best,” Hope said with an effort, smoothing down her hair.

Marty took her arm and led her toward the cashier’s window. “Whaddid I say, Little Hope? You played a fantastic game. Fantastic. Never saw anything like it, except that one time out here years ago. Well, and then that time in Atlantic City, during the hurricane. And then at that private party out in Teaneck—but never mind that. I knew you could do it. Now, bank your winnings. You don’t want to walk around with all that money. You have just enough time before you go upstairs for your shopping trip.”

Hope had regained her equilibrium. “I’m all right, Marty,” she whispered as she handed in her chips.

“Of course you’re all right, and you just won a lot of money, too, so we’ll be celebrating with you or without you,” Marty said cheerfully as they stepped away from the cashier’s window. “Now you go shopping and when you come back we’ll go to the Chinese buffet for supper and celebrate before you play tonight.”

“Okay,” Hope said. She gave him a little grateful squeeze. “Thanks, Marty.”

She and Marty had paused in the hallway leading to the elevators, and Hope smiled at the uncles as they wandered up.

“Thank you again. Everybody,” she said, glancing at them all. Even Tanner. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We know, Little Hope,” Pete said, grinning.

“You’re a credit to our teaching,” Weary said, nodding.

“Bing, bing, bing!” Sharp Eddie said.

“You can play on my team any time,” Isaiah said.

“Your previous experience combined with your renewed enthusiasm and our strategic investments of time and resources have brought us to the happy circumstances we enjoy today,” Jim Thickpenny said.

Hope beamed at them again.
Fifty thousand dollars
. And they’d all come out here just to help her make it happen.

The elevator doors opened and Hope stepped in. Punched the keypad. The doors closed.

As soon as Hope’s face disappeared behind the doors, Marty slugged Tanner in the arm.

“
Ow,
” Tanner said. “Cut it out! What’s that for?”

“Just remember what I said,” Marty said, narrowing his eyes.

“I remember. You said, help. I
helped
.”

Marty scowled at him. “No distractions. She’s here to work.”

“What did I do? She’s working. She’s doing great.”

“Just so you remember. Want to get a drink?”

“Are you done with the hitting?” Tanner asked, rubbing his arm.

Marty shrugged. “Sure. For now anyway.”

Tanner flexed his shoulder, massaging his arm again. “For
now?
What’s that supposed to mean? I’m going to have a bruise, you know that?
Jeez.
”

“Come on, don’t be a whiner. We got a hell of a play to celebrate. I’ll buy you a beer, how about that?”

“Scotch,” Tanner said, walking back to the bar with the uncles. “You are buying me a twenty-five-year-old, very expensive Scotch.”

At the bar, Marty turned to Tanner and they clinked whiskey glasses. They each took a sip in silence, giving the smooth blend the reverence it deserved.

“I realize that situation back there, where she panicked a little, that wasn’t your fault,” Marty said. “Not all of it, anyway. But I gotta watch out for her. You understand.”

Tanner nodded. Marty could watch out for Hope all he wanted. Tanner intended to watch out for Hope, too. And Tanner didn’t intend to interfere with Hope’s game in any way, whatever she was playing for.

But Tanner had seen Hope’s eyes. Those blue eyes, warm and dark, almost navy, as she’d looked at him.

She might have panicked, but being close to Tanner, holding him—his holding her—she’d liked that. She’d
liked
Tanner close to her. She’d denied it to herself. She’d jumped away. She’d been scared. But she’d liked it nonetheless.