Hot as Hell (13 page)

indication. She smiled at a security guard who inclined his head as she walked by him and then casually

began to follow her.

“Conn has arranged it so you’ll sit and immediately be offered the Bank. Your Bank will have

half a million dollars, USD. That should allow you to play for as long as it takes us to get MacLean’s

DNA,” Ren offered. “Hopefully, it won’t take long.”

Dawn mentally snorted. She was a damn good card player and wouldn’t lose Ren’s—or

whomever’s—money. As she approached the elevated section where the Baccarat table was located,

she swept the area for trouble, and found nothing that made her neck itch. She then mounted four

steps. Theo was acting as the floor man for the area. He opened the golden rope closing off the table

from the common people who’d never think about dropping $10,000 on a single bet, let alone play

several hands at that high-dollar amount.

“Welcome, Lady Wilson.” Theo inclined his head. His appreciative gaze took her in from top to

bottom and back again. “You look very lovely this evening. Quite fetching.”

“Thank you.” She slipped him a twenty and spoke loudly enough so everyone at the table

would notice. “I’d like a Glenlivet, 16-Year, Nadurra Reserve, on the rocks, with a twist of lemon, and

two bottles of unopened spring water. Put them on my tab, please. Advise the waitress that I won’t

require any other drinks this evening.”

“I’ll see to your drinks personally, milady,” Theo said.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She looked toward the table where play had paused

momentarily as the decks were reshuffled and the shoe reloaded. “I think my timing was perfect to

join a new game.”

She approached the Baccarat table. The men present stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. Please be

seated. May I sit here?” She addressed Conn.

Since he’d held the Bank last, she’d be the next in line to hold the Bank. She felt lucky and was

looking forward to playing. She hoped Benrabi was late. She hadn’t gambled since the last time she

was home for a holiday. All of her immediate family members were avid Baccarat and poker players.

The games were cutthroat; she and her father were the best players, because they were willing to take

the most risks. It hadn’t surprised anybody in the family when she—and not her brothers—had chosen

to follow her father into the world of law enforcement.

“Please do. I’m Conner.” He pulled out the chair for her.

“Thank you, Conner.” Dawn smiled at him. “Please call me Dawn.”

Conn sat and proceeded to introduce the rest of the players. Three seats remained empty and

she realized Theo would keep anyone but Benrabi and MacLean out.

Dawn nodded politely at the other men.

“Adjust the angle of your camera, Dawn,” Ren ordered. “Maybe another fifteen degrees

upward.”

Dawn looked at her watch as if she were receiving a text on her smart phone and made the

adjustment.

“That’s good, Dawn,” Sam said.

The female croupier turned to Dawn. “Would madam wish to hold the Bank?”

“Madam would. What are the betting limits?” Dawn asked.

“Minimum bet is $10,000. There is no maximum. What is the value of your Bank?” the croupier

asked. “A half-million U.S. dollars.”

The croupier nodded and called for the floor man. “Verifying a half-million U.S., please.”

Theo approached and tapped on a small computer tablet. “Half-million is approved for Lady

Wilson. Good luck to everyone.”

Dawn smiled at her fellow players. “Well, I’m sure you lovely gentleman will attempt to make

a nice run at my funds, but”—she eyed each man in turn, ending with Conn who looked amused—“I

must warn you I’m feeling very lucky this evening.”

Henri, a portly man of middle age, toasted her with his martini. “
Bonne chance
, Lady Wilson.”

His French accent was heavy. He’d told her he was in pharmaceuticals.

Dawn picked up the Scotch Theo had placed at her spot and returned the toast. “Good luck—

and do call me Dawn. Lady Wilson sounds so stuffy.”

The other men smiled and raised their drinks to her also.

Just as Conn shifted the shoe toward her, a rustling of robes preceded Sam’s muttering in her

ear, “Heads up. Showtime.”

Chapter 11

The casino’s security center was a dimly lit circular room. A crew of techs sat at computer

stations that controlled the dozens of monitors on the walls. Each monitor focused on a different area

of the casino floor and often flashed four or more images of an area at one time.

Standing in front of the monitor dedicated to the High-Roller’s Baccarat table, Sam’s gut

clenched as he watched Benrabi smile—well, leer was more like it—at Dawn. Slime-ball bastard. He

shot a quick, sharp look at Ren. “Convince me again why we had to expose Dawn in order to get DNA

from MacLean.”

“Because, we couldn’t count on MacLean leaving his estate to gamble and drink in public.” Ren

heaved a sigh. “But to please a client like Benrabi he might do both. And if he doesn’t relax his guard

enough to drink while gambling, Dawn’s in place to get his DNA by accidentally cutting him with that

very special ring she’s wearing. I thought we’d settled this back in Cartagena?”

“Yeah—I didn’t like it then and still don’t.” Sam focused on the screens showing the gaming

table and its occupants from the cameras worn by the croupier, Conn, and Dawn and the ones in the

ceiling. If a single person made one wrong move—he’d see it.

At least Dawn wasn’t seated near Benrabi, who eyed her as if she were a tasty hors d’oeuvre.

The additional intel provided by SSI on the Yemeni’s sexual proclivities made Sam’s skin crawl. “If it

were Keely sitting there—”

“She wouldn’t be.” Ren exhaled harshly. “I get where you’re coming from, Sam. You care about

Dawn. Is this going to be an issue every time I send her out on an op?”

“Yes… no…” Now it was Sam who let out a raspy breath. “Ahh, fuck it. She’d kick my ass if I

stopped her from doing her job. I know she’s competent, but…”

“Yeah, but—” Ren laughed. “Listen to us, are we whipped or what?”

“Not whipped”—Sam leaned closer to the monitor he was watching and peered at an area of

the casino adjacent to the Baccarat table—“just in love with strong, independent women who think

they’re Amazons. God, I love that woman.”

“Have you told her?” Ren asked.

“Not yet… we’ve only known each other for less a week.”

“Hell, it happened on sight between me and Keely. Enjoy the ride.” Ren moved to look at the

screen Sam stared at so intensely. “What are you seeing that I’m not?”

Sam tapped the monitor showing an area adjacent to the elevated Baccarat area. “Could that

be Lloyd? In the robes?” His finger stopped on a tall man, encased in the voluminous robes of an Arab.

“His face is in the shadows of his headdress, but the angle of his head has him focusing too intently on

the Baccarat table.”

“Maybe he’s one of Benrabi’s bodyguards?” Ren turned to one of Theo’s security room techs.

“Can you increase the magnification on camera thirty-four in sector K?”

The tech nodded and typed in a command. The image of the suspicious man magnified ten

times. “Look at his fucking hands,” Sam said. “Light-skinned. And if that’s not a signet ring with a

British lion crest, I’m a Yankee.”

“Fuck. Odds are it’s Lloyd.” Ren circled the man’s face with his finger and traced a line to the

Baccarat players. “He’s looking at Dawn, not Benrabi or even MacLean.”

“We’ve got to get him out of there before he blows Dawn’s cover.” Sam stood and then sat back

down. “Shit, I can’t go down there. Both Lloyd and MacLean know who I am.”

Ren looked grim. “When we realized Lloyd was at the resort, Keely contacted Interpol. Lloyd

was canned right after Dawn left Belize. Story is Dawn’s report on the Belize operation got him fired.

He must’ve found out Dawn was here and followed her.”

“Conn… Lloyd’s wearing Arabic robes and is by the roulette table on the casino floor, to your

right.” Sam’s voice was rough from tension. “Get his ass out of there before he blows this whole op or

hurts Dawn.”

Conn tapped his finger on the playing surface in front of him, acknowledging he’d heard. Then

he traced a circle, signaling that he’d follow through.

A consummate professional, Dawn didn’t even blink at the news, nor did she turn to look at the

roulette table as she calmly dealt hers and the next player’s hand.

“I need to sit out the next few deals.” Conn slurred his words a bit, then smiled goofily at the

other players as he stood and wavered in place. “Guard my seat and winnings, Dawn?”

“Of course, Conner.” Dawn inclined her head. “Take your time. Eat something or grab a coffee.

I’ll just fleece these lovely men of all their money and get yours when you return.”

Conn laughed, picked up his drink which was apple cider and not the whiskey everyone had

heard him order, and lurched away from the table as if he weren’t quite steady on his feet.

Theo approached Conn and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need assistance, sir?”

“No, thanks.” Conn waved him off and stumbled down the steps.

“Theo, you’re on Dawn until Conn gets back,” Ren said.

Theo tapped his ear bud in acknowledgment, then spoke into his jaw microphone in a monotone.

“Security Team B to the roulette table in Sector K for backup.”

Conn moved toward the aisle behind the roulette table and as he passed the man they were

sure was Lloyd, he stumbled, dumped his drink all over his target, and then fell onto him, taking them

both to the floor.

Theo’s men moved in quickly and helped both men up and hurried them out of the casino.

The play at the Baccarat table paused. Henri joked about Conner not holding his liquor well.

Dawn chided him—and play resumed.

Sam let out the breath he held and looked at Ren. “That was close.”

“Ren…” Conn’s voice was calm. “It’s definitely Lloyd. Theo’s men are bringing him up to you.

I’ll waste a few minutes, pick up a large coffee, maybe order some food, and head back to the table.”

“Roger that.” Ren turned to Sam. “You stay on the monitors. I’ll handle the peckerheaded

British douchebag.”

“Yeah. Probably a good idea.” Sam unfisted his hands. “I really want to hit somebody right

about now.”

Ren laughed. “It still might happen. Keep an eye on our girl.”

“My girl.”

Ren shook his head and grinned. “Yeah, I was like that about Keely within seconds of meeting

her… still am.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder and moved to greet Theo’s men who escorted the

now de-robed Lloyd into the security center. The former Interpol agent wore a furious expression and

pulled away from the men holding his arms.

Lloyd froze when he saw Sam and tried to back away as Ren approached.

Sam smiled. Yeah, if he were a cowardly pussy like Lloyd, he’d also want to back away from the

promise of pain on Ren’s face.

Turning back to the monitors, he noted Dawn’s body posture was stiffer than it had been a few

moments ago. Benrabi was talking at her as the croupier pulled in the losing bets placed by the last

player and the punters and shoved them toward Dawn. Whatever the fucker was saying upset her,

although no one else looking at her would know that. Her face was a pleasant blank, a social mask.

Sam turned up the volume on the directional microphone in the ceiling camera aimed at the

table. Dawn’s mike was too far from Benrabi to pick up his words clearly.

“Lady Wilson…” Benrabi’s words were purred in a tone Sam was sure the Yemeni thought was

sexy, but only sounded menacing. “Surely you recall the time you spent in my lovely country. Your

esteemed father was posted there for two years.”

“I remember it was hot and dusty and that my father and mother never let me off the embassy

grounds much.” Dawn’s tone was stiffly polite, dismissive. “It was rather boring, if you must know.”

A flash of fury swept over Benrabi’s face. He wasn’t as good at keeping his social mask in place

as Dawn.

Sam also watched MacLean’s expression as Benrabi attempted to engage Dawn. Old Syd looked

very much the wealthy Brazilian in his tropical weight tux and his darkly tanned skin. His eyes were

dark now; contact lenses were an easy change. But his facial bone structure had changed a lot, and

if Sam hadn’t been sure the fucker was Syd MacLean, his gaze would’ve passed over the man on the

street. Then MacLean lifted his drink to his lips and took a healthy swallow.

“He’s drinking. We’ve got him. Play a few more hands, sweetheart.” Yeah, he was ordering her

again, but he didn’t care. He wanted her safely away from Benrabi, who even now devoured her with

his slimy gaze. “Then get your sweet ass out of there. Conn’s on his way back now.”

Sam glanced at Ren, who gave him a thumbs up and then turned back to face the angry Lloyd.

The Brit ignored Ren and glared at Sam and then at the monitors. He could’ve politely pointed out to

the ex-Interpol agent that ignoring Ren Maddox wasn’t a smart idea, but Sam wasn’t feeling generous.

Lloyd had endangered Dawn and Conn, jeopardized a joint U.S.-Dutch intelligence operation. The

fucker could go to jail for that.

“Back,” Conn said as he sat carefully in his seat as if the world were spinning. The waitress set

a cup of coffee at Conn’s place and a plate with finger sandwiches on it. “Thank you, my dear,” he said.