Unlucky (9 page)

Guy #2 had been a whole other story. Brash and cocky, loud and egotistical, he was exactly the kind of man she would usually have avoided. But she was younger then and year after year of being without the company of a man had left her lonely and ripe pickings for the first guy with the balls to ask her out--and hey, he still had one of them, right? After she'd put Guy #2 into an ambulance, she'd learned that he'd only dated her on a bet. Apparently, there had been some kind of betting pool about how long a man could date her without acquiring an injury requiring medical attention.

Guy #2 had lost that bet and something a little more important, but that was hardly her fault. She'd told him not to put a loaded gun in his pants pocket and that snake wouldn't have bothered him besides. It certainly hadn't been any reason to panic and shoot off a body part.

She let out a sigh and focused back on the game in front of her. Her life was what it was, and nothing she could do would change it. God knows she'd tried.

"We have time for one more hand before lunch," Jake's voice broke into her thoughts.

She took in a deep breath, hoping to clear her mind, focus on the game in front of her, but the musky smell of Jake's cologne wafted through her nostrils and caused her vision to blur momentarily. Such a tiny thing, that scent, so sensual and masculine all at the same time, but it seemed to draw her toward him, mind and body.

Turning her gaze to the table, she watched as Jake deftly dealt the cards across the table, making note of the way his strong hands operated with a light touch and exact precision, pulling and placing each card with finesse and accuracy. Long fingers, too. Lots of uses for long fingers.

She sat up straight on her stool and lifted one hand to study her nail polish. Where the hell had that come from? Of all the men in the world Mallory had come in contact with, Jake McMillan had seemed the least interested of all. Why in the world was she working the most important event of her life and having a fantasy about the fingers on a man that most likely thought she was a bimbo, or even worse, a criminal?

This would never do. She needed to regroup her thoughts, remember who she was and what her future was--concentrate on shutting down the table before the end of the week so she could get the hell out of Jake's line of sight as soon as possible. Emotionally, she may not have been in the market for a man, but apparently no one had sent her body the memo.

She made a mental note to pick up new batteries on the way home. It was definitely time for new batteries.

Jake looked up from his cards and locked his gaze on hers. She felt a blush start to creep up her neck at being caught ogling him, and she had little doubt that he knew exactly what she was doing. It was probably written across her forehead.

Giving her a slow sexy smile, he winked.

It was going to be a very long day.

Mallory waited until the last hand of the morning was played out, careful to avoid any more concentrating on fingers or hands or anything else long and hard, then counted the men's chips and gave them each a slip of paper with the tally. Slips of paper in hand, they all headed out of the casino and into the restaurant with Jake close behind.

With her focus back on the game, Mallory had sensed that something was off. Yet she couldn't put her finger on exactly what. Certainly, given the players, there was any number of possibilities for the "off" category, but as she turned her attention to the men, one by one, she finally had to admit that the feeling was coming from Jake.

But damned if she knew why.

His play seemed to be aboveboard. A bit on the conservative side, but perhaps that was just his style, or maybe he was a bit nervous and would loosen up more as the tournament went along. With the run of luck he'd had, he should have been a bit more confident, but not only had he remained somewhat reserved, he'd seemed almost hesitant about most of his betting.

She looked at the table, the final round of hands still faceup in front of each player's seat, then cast her gaze to the card shoe. She glanced around the room, ensuring it was empty, then lifted the top card from the spent pile in the card shoe before she could change her mind. This card should be the one Jake threw on the last hand.

But what she saw didn't make sense at all.

If this card were indeed the one Jake had thrown, then he'd tossed out a full house and ended up with only three of a kind. Sure, he'd still won the overall, but there was no logical reason for a player to throw a full house, and Jake McMillan had not seemed the least bit stupid. Well, if the dealer didn't have the table under control, at least she did. Besides, it was very possible the cards had been placed in the shoe in a different order than discarded.

She returned the card and started across the casino to the kitchen. At the moment, her biggest worry was finding out what Reginald had gotten himself into.

As soon as she stepped inside the restaurant, Mallory scanned the room for Scooter, wondering if he'd had any luck tracking Reginald. She hadn't caught sight of her uncle the rest of the morning. What could the scoundrel find more important than overseeing his own tournament? At this point she was willing to try anything to get information. Even Sherlock Scooter.

She heard her name and turned toward a small table in the corner of the room where Scooter was standing on a chair waving his arms at her like he was trying to direct a plane. Amy sat quietly next to him The expression on her face was an interesting combination of amusement and horror.

Mallory lifted one hand to Scooter, hopefully giving him the signal to get off the chair and stop drawing attention to the table. Scooter shot her a huge grin and hopped off his chair, banging his knee against the table, which, in turn, caused a glass of water to tip over. Amy jumped up from the table before the worst of the flood could reach her and glared at Scooter as she mopped at her skirt with a table napkin.

Mallory tried not to smile. She wasn't the only one that could make a mess of things.

By the time she reached the table, the glass of water was righted and Amy's skirt would probably survive the experience, although based on the look on Amy's face, Scooter's fate was questionable. Mallory was also happy to note that the tables surrounding them were unoccupied, which made not being overheard a heck of a lot easier.

"Hi, guys," she said, and slid into her seat. "How's the tournament going so far?" she asked Amy.

Amy nodded and her expression cleared from scowling to enthusiastic. "It's going great! I think I'll be able to take out one of my players after lunch. That makes one down on the first day."

Mallory stared at Amy, a bit surprised. She'd known her friend was brilliant, but running a player out in less than a day, especially the players at this tournament, was nothing short of a miracle. "That's incredible, Amy. Not that I doubted your skill, but a day? Wow!"

Amy gave her a huge grin. "The idiot made it easy. He hates women and refuses to believe I can play cards. So no matter what indicators there are that I'm holding a ringer, he won't fold. Even the politician called him stupid."

Mallory smiled. "You've reached an all-time low when a Louisiana politician starts demeaning your intelligence. I guess you didn't bother to mention to the politician that he'd be working for you someday?"

Amy shook her head, the grin still in place. "It hasn't come up, but I might give him a heads-up when he's leaving."

Mallory was about to reply when she saw Amy's grin fade as quickly as it had come. Amy's eyes centered on something directly behind her and based on the look of disgust she now wore, Mallory knew it couldn't be anything good. Turning around in her seat, she looked straight into the fake smile and huge, annoying cowboy hat of Walter Royal.

"Mallory," he said, with his booming voice, "I see you're trying to establish a new career before the bottom drops out of Harry's business. Smart idea." He gave her an apologetic look. "I know you're a good foreman, but my wife has an unemployed nephew from New Orleans that we really need to do something with. Hell, he don't know the correct width of a two-by-four, but then what do you really need to know to tear shit up?"

Mallory's entire body tensed and she started to rise from her chair, her fists already clenched in anticipation of knocking the bastard out cold. Then she felt the sharp point of Amy's heel stab her directly in her big toe. She glared at her friend, who gave her the barest shake of her head, everything in her expression telling Mallory not to do what she'd been planning.

Mallory bit her lip and unclenched her hands. As much as she hated to admit it, Amy was right. Hitting Royal wouldn't solve anything but to get her a night in the tank for assault--hardly a good way to win the money she needed--and now more than ever, Mallory wanted to keep Royal from owning Harry's business.

"You think it's easy to work demolition?" Scooter stared at Walter Royal like he had tost his mind. "Demolition's harder than construction. Hell, you can bend wood to fix just about anything, and what you can't bend you can hide with molding and caulk, but if you rig dynamite wrong, you blast up a city block."

Royal gave Scooter a look of dismissal and waved one hand. "I never said I was replacing everyone at the company--just the foreman. It's a management decision. I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

Scooter leveled his gaze on Royal, his voice calm and strong. "I understand being screwed, Mr. Royal. It always looks the same."

Mallory saw Scooter tense and knew he was about to stand up and finish what she'd started to do earlier. Holding one hand up to put Scooter at bay, she gave Walter a fake smile. "I guess I'll be looking at my other options, then." She extended one hand toward Royal. "I appreciate the heads-up. It will give me an opportunity to start checking on some firms in New Orleans."

Royal stared at her for a moment and she tried like hell to form her expression into the model of sincerity. It must have worked because he finally gave her a broad smile and extended his hand. "I knew you'd see reason. It's nothing personal, after all. It's just business."

Mallory shook his hand and gave him a nod. "Of course." She released his hand and turned around to face the others, knowing Amy would let her know when her archenemy had vacated the area.

"Asshole," Amy said, and Mallory knew Royal had retreated to his hole under a rock.

"Is his back to us?" Mallory asked, itching to turn around and see what would befall her nemesis.

Amy nodded. "Yeah, it's safe to look."

Mallory turned slightly in her chair and watched as Royal crossed the dining area. Just as he stepped in front of the double doors to the kitchen, someone inside swung one of them open and plowed him right in the face. The force of the blow had Royal staggering backward into the nearest table where the occupants had just been served the lunch meal of spaghetti and meatballs.

The occupants jumped from the table as Royal fell backward across it, a shower of spaghetti and red wine shooting up from the table and raining down to cover him. The door-slinging waiter stared in horror, then rushed into action, helping Royal off the now-broken table and trying to wipe at the stains on his shirt.