The Prince's Gamble (2 page)

Chapter Two

The sound of saws and construction reached Kathleen’s ears as she drove along the street on her way to the Russian Nights casino. Even after so many months, parts of the city were still being rebuilt, but bigger and better from what she could see. Pride filled her at the resiliency of the American people and New Jerseyans in particular. In minutes she had parked in the area of the boardwalk that had already been rebuilt, where she was supposed to meet her local law enforcement contact.

Atlantic City Police Detective Peter Roman looked nothing like a run-of-the-mill cop, Kathleen thought as she caught a glimpse of him as he lounged against the boardwalk railing, munching from a bag filled with peanuts. Even the rumpled off-the-rack navy blue suit could not detract from looks which could grace an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. Shaggy brown hair framed chiseled features and eyes an intriguing shade of gold-green. His body was lean, tall, and from what she could see beneath his suit jacket, very nicely muscled.

She walked toward him, the smell of fresh wood filling her senses. She hadn’t taken more than a step or two when his cop’s eyes shifted from his perusal of the gleaming new boardwalk area to her. A slow smile spread across his face and he held out his hand as she approached.

“Special Agent Martinez, I presume.”

She dipped her head and shook his hand. “Detective Roman.”

He gave a come-with-me gesture with his head, and they started a slow stroll along the boardwalk, his gaze continuously scouring the area. “I appreciate you meeting me down here.”

“Are you on a stakeout?” she asked and looked around, vigilant for anything out of the ordinary.

He shook his head and offered her the bag of nuts. Candied ones, she noted, but declined his offer.

“No, thanks. So are you looking for someone?”

“Just keeping my fingers on the pulse of what’s happening. It’s been a challenge with all the building and the changes going on,” he answered, his tone droll as he shook out some nuts and popped them into his mouth.

Kathleen smiled and jerked her chin toward an older couple being brushed past by a young man. “You mean like that pickpocket over there?”

“Damn, good catch.” The detective hurried toward the youth as he walked away, but some internal sense must have registered. The thief looked back, saw them, and shot off at a run.

“Stop! Police,” Roman called out, but the youth only increased his pace and started tossing things in their way. Such as an older woman, whom Peter ran around and she hurdled over, gaining a foot or two on the thief. And a pushcart that banged painfully into her hip and made her stumble for a moment before she recovered.

Luck was on their side as a family in one of the rented surreys, unaware of the chase, veered in front of their suspect, knocking him off balance.

Roman used the opportunity to throw himself forward and tackle the suspect to the ground. He had one arm restrained and his knee pushed deep into the suspect’s back when Kathleen arrived next to them. With a quick pull, Roman secured both wrists with a cable tie and warned the suspect, “Don’t move, or I’ll add resisting arrest to the charges.”

He frisked the young man’s clothing and pulled out not one, but four wallets he had lifted. “Been busy, I see.”

“I want a lawyer,” the young man said, a regular in the system to know his rights without them being read. But Roman recited them anyway, then called in for a black and white to take him away.

As they stood there, waiting for the police car, with tourists milling around them to see what was happening, Kathleen said in a low voice that only he could hear, “I understand you’re familiar with Alexander Ivanov?”

“I am. I have personal reasons for keeping my eyes and ears open for what’s happening there.”

The sharp chirps of a siren and flashing lights from the side street off the boardwalk signaled the arrival of the uniformed police officers. They hurried over from their car and Peter gave them instructions on what to do. Once he was done, they resumed their stroll along the new section of boardwalk. Peter stopped to buy another bag of nuts to replace the ones he’d lost during the chase.

She pressed on with her earlier questioning about the prince. “Based on your information, do you think Ivanov’s clean?”

With a determined nod, he confirmed it. “Ivanov keeps a close eye on everything that’s happening and I have no doubt that everything he does is legal. But it’s a big place. Huge, actually. Something may be going on without his knowledge.”

“Are there any other missing women in the area?”

Roman nodded. “We had a serial killer a year or so back we still haven’t caught, but nothing to say he’s at work again. His targets were low level prostitutes.”

“And who cares about them, right?”

“I care,” he said and tapped at his chest. “I care, and I won’t stop until he’s caught.” His determination rang true.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“A few missing younger women. Could be runaways. We’ve been trying to track them down. Are you worried about anything in particular?”

“Money laundering can be connected to a number of illegal activities, but given the missing women you just mentioned, I’m concerned about a possible white slavery ring.”

“One of my colleagues is working the missing women angle. I’ll talk to him and send you what we have.”

“I’d appreciate that.” She reached into her suit jacket pocket and handed Roman her business card. He glanced at it and slipped it into his pocket.

She left him strolling down the boardwalk and hurried back to her car. Ivanov had been expecting her at noon, but she was running a little late. The prince probably didn’t appreciate being kept waiting, but he would soon discover that she wasn’t someone who kowtowed to the rich and famous.

He was going to have to prove to her what kind of man he was in order to earn her trust and respect.

…

Alexander paced before the floor to ceiling windows in his office and stared down at the activity on the boardwalk. Pedestrians scurried from casino to casino and the hole-in-wall tourist and food shops tucked in between. Others sat on benches at the boardwalk’s edge, soaking in an unusually strong early spring sun. Braver souls had laid out towels on the once again pristine gap of beach that stretched as far as he could see. In the days and weeks after the hurricane, litter had been strewn all along the sands and what little had remained of the boardwalk.

He smiled as he saw that miles away, the rebuilding of the last bit of boardwalk was almost done. In a few other areas, fresh construction continued, bringing hope as well as needed jobs, homes and businesses.

While he always enjoyed the sights at all hours of the day, he had better things to do right now. He shot another glance at his gold Philippe Patek watch.

Twenty minutes late. Twenty minutes of doing nothing while he waited. He wasn’t a man used to doing nothing. It was why months earlier he had rolled up his sleeves and gotten to work helping others when the need had arisen during the storm.

His phone buzzed. He whirled from the windows and strode to his desk. With a sharp jab of the button, he answered. “Yes, Tabitha.”

“Special Agent Martinez is here for you.”

“Finally. Please send her in.”

Arms akimbo, he braced himself for her entry. Although involving the authorities was the right thing to do, he still wasn’t totally comfortable with the decision. Call it a byproduct of his family history with authoritarian regimes, as well as concern for the casino’s reputation. His family could not afford any negative publicity or possible issues with the Gaming Commission.

Nothing, however, prepared him for her arrival.

Full of urgent energy, she barreled through the door. Her long-legged stride carried her to his desk in short order.

Tall and lean, her tailored black suit hid none of her curves and showed off the tone in her incredibly long legs. Dark chestnut hair gleamed with reddish highlights and hung to her shoulders in fringed layers. It was slightly disheveled and one side of her bright white shirt was pulled out of her pants slightly, as if she’d been in some kind of altercation. The rumpled look didn’t work for him. He generally surrounded himself with people who took great care with their appearance.

The deep hue of her hair contrasted with the creamy tones of her face and eyes that were a kaleidoscope of hazel, blue, and green shards. Downturned corners marred full lips which might be quite amazing if she smiled.

She brusquely stuck out a hand with well-kept, but unpolished, nails. Her palm was warm and smooth as he shook her hand. Her fingers were elegant, her grip powerful. It wasn’t hard for him to picture those strong fingers moving against his body.

Because he needed a distraction from the sudden flare of desire she roused, he pulled his hand from hers and jammed it on his hip again. “I was expecting you nearly half an hour ago.”

…

Kathleen would not apologize for her tardiness, so she got right to the point. “I understand you have a missing hostess and concerns about some possible money laundering.”

He rocked back on his heels and a momentary flicker of annoyance showed on his face before he schooled his emotions. He tucked the papers into a file and then laid it before her. Gesturing to it with a negligent flip of his hand, he met her gaze full on once more, his features hard and unyielding. Cold as a Siberian winter.

“We’ve put together some information which I assume your boss has shared with you. I hope to have more for you later. My chief of security will be joining us shortly to get you settled.”

Despite his tone and attitude, it was hard for Kathleen to ignore that he was an incredibly handsome man. The pictures and clippings in her file had not done him justice.

Ivanov stood at least six foot two with broad shoulders that strained the expensive fabric of his designer suit. His well-muscled upper body flowed into lean hips and powerful legs.

She dragged her attention back to his face. The muscles in his chiseled jaw clenched with annoyance. It was hard to tell if he had full lips from the angry slash of his mouth. High cheekbones served to highlight winter blue eyes with an exotic tilt. Or maybe his eyes only seemed clear as the sky due to the midnight hair ruthlessly styled into place.

Two gorgeous men in one day, and just her luck they were both connected to her investigation. But while Detective Roman still possessed a hint of boyishness in his features, Alexander was a man with a capital M. Her flare of attraction to him was disturbing on several levels.

First, there was the whole prince thing. She was nowhere in his league, and had never pictured herself as a princess. Add to that the fact that he was a possible suspect and it would be professionally unethical for any involvement. Finally, he had the blood of that dead woman on his hands. Because of all those things, she had to keep her unnerving attraction to him from distracting her.

“There’s no need for a room in the hotel,” she said, and watched the crystalline blue of his eyes chill to an icy frost.

“When my senior security people are on duty, they have accommodations here due to their long work hours. It’s for your convenience and comfort, not mine, I assure you.”

You had to pick your battles and since it seemed this was one she would not win, she nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

Before she could continue, his administrative assistant notified him that Chief of Security Reynolds had arrived.

“Please send him in.” The “please” did little to change the command in his tone, but Kathleen gave him props for at least making the effort.

She did a partial pivot toward the door and the older man who entered. She guessed him to be in his late fifties and definitely either former military or law enforcement, judging from his bearing and the precise manner in which he approached.

“Jim Reynolds,” he said, and shot out his hand.

Kathleen shook it, noting the work-roughened callous on his palm. “Special Agent Kathleen Martinez.”

Alexander acknowledged his chief with a warm smile that evaporated his earlier frostiness. “I was just advising Ms. Martinez—”

“That’s Special Agent Martinez,” she reminded him.

With a condescending nod, he corrected himself. “Jim, please show
Special Agent
Martinez around. Let her get the lay of the land. I’d like to reconvene at six for a more detailed briefing and then dinner.”

“I can do dinner on my own, thanks,” she said, annoyed by his presumptuousness.

“I insist,
Special Agent
. It will allow us to get to know each other better,” he replied, although judging from the look on his face, he was no more pleased by the prospect than she was.

“Friday night dinners are kind of a tradition around here. I think you’ll enjoy it,” his security chief advised, sensing the ongoing clash of wills and trying to ease the tension.

“Let’s see how things go during your briefing. I may need to provide my initial report in person to my Assistant Director in Charge,” she explained, and fired a glance at Ivanov.

The chill in his demeanor returned and icy anger had taken hold, as well. “Then I suggest you get going.”

She bit back a retort to his dismissal. She did not usually have a problem with authority, but his superior attitude was really stirring awake her rebellious streak. She reminded herself there was possibly a woman’s life at stake. Because of that, she wouldn’t delay any longer.

Chapter Three

Although she always wore sensible shoes, Kathleen’s feet were still aching by the time Ivanov’s security chief had given her that “lay of the land” as Ivanov had called it. A very vast and complex land, she realized during the course of their walk. Russian Nights was a massive operation. The lower levels of the building housed the staff areas, storage, and security. Above them were five floors reserved for entertainment, dining, and gambling. The first floor held a food court and a coffee shop for the more pedestrian gamblers. A number of retail shops, mostly for tourists, filled the space on the rest of the main level. The next floor held the hotel lobby and more shops, mostly designer ones for the wealthier clientèle. The rest of this floor, as well as the three above it, were geared almost exclusively toward gambling, with an assortment of electronic gaming machines and tables. The only break from that was on the fourth floor where a nightclub and restaurant were located. At each and every floor, everything seemed to run efficiently and seamlessly. Add to that the additional fifteen or more stories for the hotel complex and managing offices, and it was clear Prince Alexander had built himself quite a little empire to rule in Atlantic City.

“This is a huge undertaking,” she said as they walked toward Jim’s office so he could report on their investigations so far.

“The boss man himself dreamed it all and battled his father every inch of the way, from what I understand. The hurricane almost stole the dream, but the prince was not about to surrender to Fate,” Jim explained as they entered the security department. The room was packed with state-of-the-art monitoring equipment manned by at least two dozen or more employees.

“How large is your staff?” Kathleen wondered aloud.

“We can discuss that in my office,” he said, and launched into a description of what his people were doing at the various stations, from watching the assorted gaming tables, general casino areas, hotel corridors, and employee areas, to the periphery of the building outside. Except for the private accommodations and spa areas, virtually every inch of the casino was under surveillance.

After their tour, Jim led her into his office, but not before she caught a glimpse of a back locker room as well as a cabinet containing a small arsenal of weaponry and tactical gear. At her raised eyebrows, Jim quickly explained, “All legal, and all just in case of an attempted robbery or terrorist attack.”

Considering the millions of dollars available on a regular basis within the walls of the casino and the huge number of soft targets that could potentially be injured, the arsenal made sense.

Once they were behind closed doors, Jim walked over to a coffee machine where he slipped in a pod and made himself a cup.

“Would you like some?” he said and raised his mug.

“I’m a tea person myself.”

“Just like the boss. The tea can be arranged if you’d like.” He strode to his desk where a large pile of papers sat beside a couple of thumb drives. He smiled as he saw them.

“I think you’ll be pleased with this.” He pushed forward the papers and one thumb drive in her direction.

She lifted the thumb drive questioningly, and he said, “Video surveillance of the various women cashing in chips. About two week’s worth, because that’s all we normally keep.”

“Can we push that to a month from now on?”

Jim nodded and sat down. He took a sip of the coffee before saying, “I’ve already arranged for that.”

Kathleen eased onto a chair, as well, grateful for the rest for her feet, even if she knew it was only temporary. She wanted to hit the gaming floors herself and see how they worked, from the slots and tables to the cashier areas.

“The USB drive also has all the reports we gave to your boss on the transfers made to bank accounts by the cashiers as well as the checks we’ve cut. I figure a bean counter like you will know what to do with it.”

Normally, she might have been upset with his term for her, but an underlying thread of humor tangled in his tone and made her wonder what he thought was so funny. “Do I amuse you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Jim, please. Not at all. I’m actually glad you’re here. I’m an action kind of guy and hate the paperwork.”

“So the last thing you want to do is read through all this.” She riffled the edges of the paper the way a dealer might a deck of cards.

“Damn straight,” he confirmed with all the gusto of his military background.

She chuckled and rose. “I think I’ll drop this off in my room before I meander along the casino floor.”

Jim nodded, opened his desk drawer and extracted a security badge, room key, earwig, and transmitter. “You have my level security clearance with the badge, and the earpiece will keep you connected to me and my staff at all times. If you need to reach someone, just push the top of the transmitter to signal us. As for your room, it’s on the twenty-second floor penthouse level—”

She snapped her hand into the air to silence him. “Isn’t Prince Alexander’s office on that floor?”

“The prince and princess both have offices and living quarters on the penthouse floor. You’ll be in one of the two guest rooms. If you need me, I’m on the floor below you. Both floors can only be accessed with these special key cards.”

“The princess?” She didn’t recollect reading anything about Ivanov having a wife.

“His sister. Princess Tatiana. She’s in school in Philly and comes to stay fairly regularly. You’ll get to meet her tonight at dinner,” Jim explained.

She gathered the materials together and slipped in the earpiece. Wonderful. She got to deal with
two
spoiled royals tonight.

If she decided to attend the dinner.

Jim perceptively registered her vibes. “They’re not what you think. As for tonight, it’s not a command performance.”

“But you’d recommend I attend,” she guessed.

Jim rose, as well, and jammed his hands in his pockets, narrowing his eyes as he studied her with greater scrutiny. “I’m no fool, Special Agent Martinez.”

“Kathleen,” she offered, recalling his earlier courtesy.

“Kathleen,” he said with an appreciative nod. “If I were you, I’d no doubt be wondering if Alexander was blowing smoke up my ass to hide his own shenanigans.”

Nothing if not direct.

“And if you were me, you’d definitely attend, to find out all you could. So I guess I’ll see you at seven.”

“Seven it is. If you need anything in the meantime, just buzz me.”

“I will. And thanks for your cooperation,” she said. But Jim quickly shot back, “Thank Prince Alexander. He’s the one who arranged for everything.”

Including the reams of paper, mounds of data, and hours of video, which might be just as Jim said—smoke blowing up her ass.

Tucking the papers under her arm and the thumb drive into her jacket pocket, she hurried to the elevator banks, inserted her key, and pushed the button for her floor.

Ivanov’s posh penthouse retreat.

This particular elevator was reserved for staff use, and with the exception of one maid who got off and on between floors in the hotel area, Kathleen rode to the penthouse level by herself. As she exited, a discreet sign guided her in the direction of the guest rooms.

When she entered, it was impossible to ignore the floor to ceiling windows which provided a glittering view of the Atlantic City environs. Before her, the rebuilt boardwalk stretched for miles until the very small tip still under construction. Beside the still pale beige of fresh wood planks was a sea turned indigo by the last hints of dusk. She dropped the papers on a desk in the living room area, and stood by the windows, watching daylight fade and night erupt along with the lights from the casinos lining the strip.

A beautiful and hopeful sight, she thought, kicking off her shoes and allowing herself to just breathe and relax for a few minutes. When night had fully fallen, she yanked off her jacket and settled down in a chair that was just way too comfortable. It made her want to curl into the chair with a good book, but time was precious. Especially for Ivanov’s missing hostess.

She called her ADIC and when he answered, reported on what she had seen so far and what awaited her.

“Sounds like Ivanov is being cooperative,” ADIC Roberts noted.

“So far. Do you have any new leads on the hostess?”

“Nothing yet.”

“As discussed, my cover is that I’m part of Ivanov’s security staff. That’ll let me visit the restaurant tonight and see if any of the staff remembers anything out of the ordinary. Hopefully something will pop.”

“Hopefully,” he replied, although both understood the realities all too well. Survival rates for missing women dropped off sharply after twenty-four hours.

Kathleen ended the call and laid out the papers on the desk. After a cursory look at them, she got her laptop running. Since the data was in spreadsheets, she could crunch it in a number of ways to try to see some kind of pattern. She itched to get to it, but as she darted a look at her watch, she realized it was almost time for her meeting with Ivanov and then dinner.

She hoped they didn’t dress formally for the meal because she had no time to change. Which was just as well, because she wasn’t the girlie type, always checking a mirror to make sure everything was just so. Fussing with her appearance didn’t rank high on her list of things to do.

Slipping her shoes and suit jacket back on, she hurried to Ivanov’s office where she found his security chief already waiting in the anteroom. He rose as she entered, but a second later, the prince’s assistant was inviting them into his office.

Ivanov ended a call and slipped the phone back into its cradle as they came in, but didn’t rise. With an imperial kind of wave, he invited them to take a seat. He reclined in his leather chair, his posture deceptively relaxed.

“I trust Jim has given you a tour of our operations as well as the information we’ve collected about the case.”

“Jim has been very helpful. I’m looking forward to going through the data you provided. I also plan on visiting the restaurant later to see what the staff may be able to report.”

“We don’t video the interior of the restaurant, but there’s a gaming area nearby.” Ivanov glanced at Jim. “Could the cameras record anything of use?”

“Possibly. I’ll check it out, boss.”

With a commanding nod, Ivanov surged from his chair. He straightened his jacket and held his arm out in the direction of his office door. “Shall we retire to dinner?”

So formal and princely, she thought, but bit back her desire to smile at his stick-up-the-butt correctness.

They walked into the anteroom. A door on one far wall opened into a nice-sized dining area. Inside was a large glass and chrome table that matched the modern décor in the prince’s office area. A wet bar was tucked into an alcove while a wall of windows on the opposite side again provided splendid views of the city and the Atlantic.

The table had been set for eight, making Kathleen wonder who else would be joining them besides Ivanov’s sister. As if on cue, Ivanov’s assistant, Tabitha, came to the door and announced the arrival of the prince’s guests.

Ivanov smiled in greeting. The action transformed his face. Gone were the taciturn and stern features as two couples entered, one young and one middle-aged. He walked over and greeted them and then turned to face her and Jim.

“This is Jim Reynolds, my head of security and Ms. Kathleen Martinez, a new hire for our security staff. You’ll see Jim showing her around so she can get a feel for the place,” he said, and then continued.

“Kathleen, we have a tradition here of honoring exceptional service from our Russian Nights staff every Friday night. Mary is in housekeeping, and this is her fiancé Robert. Edgar is one of our croupiers. Melinda is his wife.”

Kathleen shook hands with each of them, while Ivanov stepped back for a moment and shot an anxious glance at his watch. She supposed his mood had to do with his yet-to-arrive sister, but it was just seven. No need for worry, unless there was something he had yet to share with her.

As she finished introducing herself, Ivanov swept his hand in the direction of the wet bar where someone from the wait staff had discreetly stepped in. “Please let Bill know what you would like to drink. We’ll have some appetizers while we wait for the rest of our guests to arrive.”

A perfectly gracious host, but Kathleen detected the traces of concern in his tone and wondered if it was somehow connected to the investigation, his sister, or both. As his staff served them drinks, he chatted with his guests, but continued to glance occasionally at his watch. With each second that passed, his expression grew more worried, until from out in the hall came the muted sound of hurried footsteps.

A young woman flew through the door just a moment later. Her hair was slightly mussed, the wavy ebony strands flying loose around a very feminine face which bore an undeniable resemblance to the prince’s. The same determined chin and sharp slash of a nose. Crystalline blue eyes a shade lighter than her brother’s, but with the identical intriguing shape.

“My sister, Princess Tatiana.” Ivanov sauntered over to his sister and plucked her knapsack off her shoulder with obvious disdain. He handed it off to another staff member who had trailed the princess into the room.

“So nice of you to dress for dinner,” he added as he skimmed his gaze over his sister’s jeans, polo shirt, and zip-up hoodie. He raised his hand and straightened a few flyaway hair strands into some semblance of order, but the gesture leaned toward indulgence rather than annoyance, Kathleen noted.

“We can’t all have our majordomo dress us in a designer suit each morning,” she replied, but with a hint of teasing which, to Kathleen’s surprise, dragged a chuckle and a broad smile from her brother. The earlier unease she had sensed in the prince had diminished, but he still had some lingering worries.

He slipped his arm around his sister’s shoulders and with a playful shake, he said, “We’re glad you’re here so we can finally be seated for dinner.”

The others in the room quickly took spots at the table, leaving the head and foot for the prince and princess, and providing Kathleen with no other choice but to sit to the immediate right of Ivanov.