by Dobbs, L. A.
9
At six p.m. sharp, Alison knocked on Owen’s apartment door. The building was nice enough, in a nice enough part of town too. Nothing fancy or ostentatious, the architecture fit him—clean, neat, to the point.
I like it. And him. More than I want to admit.
The door creaked open and Owen peeked out, still dressed in his suit from earlier, though he’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt to expose a hint of the tanned flesh.
“Hey.” He checked his watch. “Right on time.”
“Of course.” She waited until he opened the door then stepped inside his place. Glancing around, she was surprised. The interior of his apartment looked even less homey than her furnished rental. She’d expected him to be more of a family-type guy, but apparently she’d assumed wrong. From the mismatched furnishings to the moving boxes still unpacked against the walls, he seemed as ready to pick up and run as she did.
They walked over to an overstuffed sofa and each took a seat on opposite ends.
Owen pulled out a brand new deck of cards from his pocket, still in their crinkle wrap, and tossed them on the empty middle cushion. “Go ahead. Show me your magic.”
“It’s not magic. And it works better with two people.” She opened the deck and handed the cards back to him. “You deal. Blackjack, five people at a table, just like at the Lucky Ace.”
“Okay.” He frowned, but did as she asked.
She scooted closer to see the cards better and their knees brushed. She shoved a slew of inconvenient feelings aside. For her and Faye’s sake, she needed to focus on the numbers. She was here to find the real cheater before she left town. One last favor to a friend. Owen didn’t factor into the equation. There was nothing long term here … or anywhere … for her. Ever.
Owen set the deck aside. “Now what?”
“I’ve got a near-photographic memory, meaning I can recall every card dealt in each progressive hand. And you already know I’m good at math and assessing probability. Right now, the only cards I don’t know are what’s in the dealer’s hand, but that’s where the probability comes in. Based on what's currently on the table, I’d say it’s unlikely you’re holding an ace.” She pointed to the other four hands. “Because there’s three already out. This is why I always try to sit last at whatever table I’m playing, or as close to last as I can. That way I can see what other cards come up and give myself a better chance to win.” She glanced up at his slightly dazed expression. From the dark circles beneath his eyes and the shadow of stubble on his chiseled jaw, he looked pretty exhausted. Poor baby. Alison smiled and pointed at the deck. “Go ahead and deal the next round.”
Once he did, she shook her head. “Look at all those faces. Now, I’ve only got eighteen, but from the cards showing and the calculations in my head, I’m guessing the dealer likely has less than that so I’m going to stay.” She grinned. “Go ahead. Turn over the dealer’s cards and see if I’m right.”
Owen did and the hand showed a ten and two threes. Sixteen.
“Ha!” She clapped. “I win. No cheating involved.”
He gathered up the cards, his gaze on her the whole time. “Counting cards is cheating.”
“But I’m not counting cards. I’m guessing more than anything. Now maybe if there were more players, I’d have an edge, but the Lucky Ace keeps their player count at five per table, so no advantage here. Not to mention the fact your dealers shuffle between each hand, which makes it way harder to figure cards from past hands in my predictions. And if that still isn’t enough proof, then how about each dealer changing to a fresh deck once an hour? Nope. Sorry. Your tables are practically bulletproof, cheating-wise.”
“Right.” Owen relaxed back into the cushions, letting his head rest on the back of the sofa, his eyes half-lidded. “And yet, you’re still able to win. Why is that?”
“Maybe I’m lucky.”
“Maybe you’re full of shit.” He snorted. “Again?”
“Again.”
They played at least six more hands over the next hour, each time with Alison explaining her strategy as she won. He seemed to grow more relaxed by the second and so did she. It was almost like sitting around with an old friend. Owen shuffled the cards.
“Again?” Owen’s gaze drifted to her lips before returning to her eyes, and she got the distinct impression his thoughts weren’t on cards.
She nodded, surprised to discover that she’s somehow inched closer to him. “Again.”
The word emerged husky.
Owned leaned closer, then hesitated. He pulled away, a shadow darkening his eyes. “What do you want from me?”
Her dazed brain struggled to comprehend his statement. The pure emotional part of her wanted to tell him to kiss her. The pure analytical side reminded her she was here to clear Faye’s name. Reluctantly, she went with the truth. “I want to look at the numbers from the casino. I want to help you catch the real cheater.”
Owen looked away. “Right. The numbers. That’s why we’re here. My bad.”
“Yep.” She briskly straightened her shirt … along with her priorities. “That’s why we’re here.”
He reached over the arm of the sofa and lifted up a briefcase. “I brought all the stuff I’ve been going over.” He popped open the locks then pulled out a stack of ledger sheets. “The footage you’ll have to look at on casino property, in my office. Downloading those would definitely send up red flags on my end, especially considering my cousin provides the feeds.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and did her best to focus on the sheets he’d handed her. He moved closer and peered over her shoulder, disturbing what little concentration she had left. “Listen, I can’t do this while you’re breathing down my neck.”
Owen gave her a peeved look. “Why not? Can’t think up a lie when I can point it out?”
“No. There is a little thing called personal space. You should look it up. Glorious concept, really. Could you get me something to drink though? My throat’s dry.”
He pushed to his feet. “What do you want?”
“Water’s fine, thanks.” Having a bit of space between them helped her frazzled nerves tremendously and while he tinkered in the kitchen, she studied the numbers. He returned a few minutes later, and took a seat beside her once more. She was about to ask him for some other useless thing when a scratching sounded started on the other side of his front door.
“Aw, hell no.” He stalked over toward the entrance. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“What is it?”
Owen opened the door and the dog from the casino scrabbled in, excited.
“The second most annoying female in this room.”
“Nice.” Alison reached over to pet the canine drooling on her feet “Hi, baby.”
Owen took his seat once more and pulled out his cell phone, dialing with one hand while pushing the slobbering dog away from his face with the other. Whoever was on the other end of the line got an earful of angry. “Seriously? This is getting ridiculous. Even for you.”
Scowling, he continued. “What? No. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Stop trying to set me up with a pet, okay? I don’t need your help. I’ve got enough woman issues as it is.”
Alison did her best to focus on the ledger sheets and not Owen’s conversation, but her stubborn thoughts refused to obey.
He’s got ‘woman issues’? Is he seeing someone? Was that why he stopped kissing her?
Owen hung up and Alison pretended to work harder.
Awkward silence stretched between them until she couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, she addressed the huge elephant in their room, doing her best to keep her tone from betraying her inner curiosity. “Woman issues?”
“What?” He gave her some serious side-eye. “Forget it. It’s none of your business.”
“Fine.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and ran a finger down a column of figures. “If you didn’t want to mess around
on your girlfriend, you should’ve just said no.”
“What?” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Which part of ‘none of your business’ didn’t you understand?”
“Whatever.”
“Stop prying into my life and just do what you came her to do, okay?”
“I already have.”
“Huh?” He straightened, looking far more alert now. “Already? How?”
She grabbed a nearby highlighter. “Look at these transactions. They’re done on different days at different times. They seem random, but there’s a pattern. The sums start out modest, but increase exponentially as the months go by. Now, they’re running in the high five to low six figure range.”
“Great.” He squinted at the columns she’d pointed out. “Still doesn’t tell me who the culprit is, though.”
“Run these amounts against the cashier tapes from the same dates. That’ll nab your cheater.” She gave him a satisfied smile. “These guys think they’re smart, that they’re being random enough not to get caught, but with enough data—and time—a pattern emerges. Only computers are truly random. People are biased.”
“Shit.” Owen walked over to a laptop on his kitchen table. He punched the keys on the keyboard then whistled. “Goddamn. I don’t think it’s just one person.”
“No?” She joined him, but he shooed her away before she could see anything more than the fact he was logged into the casino’s intranet system. “Why?”
“Because there are two different players club accounts listed with these transactions.”
“Interesting.” She slumped against the wall and pretended to study her nails while taking another quick glance at the screen. One name jumped out at her. Greg Walpole. “You think they’re working together?”
“Could be. And I might know who one of them is too, but I need more proof.”
“I gave you all the proof right there.” She pointed at the ledger sheets still covering the sofa cushions, irritated. “What more do you want?”
“You gave me the transactions.” He closed the laptop and faced her, one muscular forearm resting on the back of his chair. “I still need to tie them to the right people and prove they're suspicious.”
“Fine. I’ll let you get to it then.” She walked back over to the sofa and grabbed her purse.
“Thanks for this. I’ll call Blake and get his team on it right away. We’ll find the real guilty parties.”
“And clear Faye’s name?”
And mine.
“Yep. If you guys are innocent, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He’d already reopened the laptop and was typing away as she let herself out.
* * *
The next afternoon, Alison burst into Faye’s apartment with her laptop under her arm. It was easy enough to dig into someone’s past—if you had the time, their name, and a steady internet connect. Right now, she had the first two, but not the third. Thankfully, that’s where her best friend came in handy. She plopped down on one end of Faye’s couch and fired up her computer again without so much as saying hello.
Faye, still in her PJs at nearly two in the afternoon, gave Alison a disbelieving look. “Um, what the hell are you doing?”
She remained focused on her task, clearing both of their names of any wrongdoing. “Cyberstalking someone.”
“Right.” Faye took a sip of her coffee, watching Alison over the rim. “And you feel the need to do that in my apartment why?”
“Ms. Baker doesn’t have the greatest Internet. Keeps cutting out all the time. And this isn’t exactly stuff I want to do in front of an entire café full of people.” She typed in new searches at lightning speed, speaking to Faye over her shoulder without really looking at her. “Did you find out anything from the other dealers?”
“Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact.”
She paused in her typing, finally glancing at Faye with a raised brow. “And?”
“And you know that creep who hit on you the other day? The one who wouldn’t let you leave? I found out he wins a lot, at all the tables. One of the gals said he’s there sometimes with another guy—blond, medium build. Not sure if you’ve seen them together at a table or not.”
“Huh.” After leaving Owen’s, she’d run the name she’d seen on his screen—Greg Walpole—and managed to match his face to the creep Faye mentioned. The partner thing, though, was new. Alison frowned and went back to typing. If Walpole was working with a partner, that would make sense. Two takes were better than one. And less suspicious.
“Want me to make some lunch?” Faye headed for the kitchen. “I need to eat before my shift at five.”
“Yeah, sure.” She kept her attention on her screen, scrolling through new data. “I could eat.”
“Omelet or salads?”
“Whatever.”
“Cool.”
Amidst the sounds of cookware clacking and food sizzling, Alison dug deeper into Greg Walpole. She started with social media—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. You could live off the grid. Hell, she was proof of that. But most people liked to stay in touch. But after several minutes of looking, she remained empty-handed.
Faye returned and set a plate of veggie omelet and toast on the coffee table in front of Alison then took the seat beside her. “How’s it going?”
“Slow.”
“You should take a break. Eat your food before it gets cold.”
Alison wanted to keep working, but her rumbling stomach said otherwise. Reluctantly, she set the laptop aside and picked up her plate and fork. “Hey, I didn’t know you were into adultery.”
“What?” Faye halted mid-chew. “What are you talking about?”
“Your Rockford McHottie.” Alison dug into the creamy eggs and crunchy veggies, savoring the salt and greasy goodness and the spicy snap of the peppers. “He’s got a girlfriend.”
“Owen? You must be kidding.” Faye spoke around a bite of toast, her words muffled. “He spends more time at the casino than I do. No way does that guy have a social life.”
“All I know is, he turned me down pretty quick.” She took a sip of the orange juice Faye had brought out with her food.
Faye’s brow rose. “You mean that night in the bar? I didn’t realize anything happened when I was up by the stage. You were drunk, though. Maybe he was trying to be a gentleman.”
“Was not,” Alison mumbled under her breath, cursing herself for bringing up her second rendezvous with Owen the day before.
Idiot.
Mortified, heat prickled Alison’s cheeks and she looked away fast.
“Like hell you weren’t.” Faye chuckled and licked her fork then stared at Alison. “Wait a minute. You saw him again, didn’t you? I can tell from your face. When?”
“Yesterday. I didn’t do it very well though, apparently.”
“You like him!” Faye laughed. “I knew there was something between you two.”
“There’s nothing between us, okay?” Alison stuffed her last bite of eggs in her mouth, then wiped her face with a napkin and set the plate back on the table. “He’s hot, that’s all. And it’s been a while...” She sat back and crossed her arms, feeling way more vulnerable than she liked. Embarrassed, Alison picked up her laptop again and continued searching for more dirt on Walpole.
Faye laughed. “You and Owen are perfect for each other. Man, am I a matchmaker or what?”
“At this point, I’d go with ‘or what’.” She ignored her friend’s obscene gesture and continued typing. “Owen Rockford and I are not perfect. You are not a matchmaker. It was a fleeting moment and nothing really happened.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ignoring her, Alison continued to type. “Dammit.” Alison scowled at her computer screen, exasperated. “I hate Facebook. Faye, what’s your login? It won’t let me see anything unless I’m signed in.”
“You don’t have Facebook?”
The aghast tone of her friend’s voice broke through Alison
’s grumpy fog and she laughed. “Don’t act so surprised. It is possible to live without it, you know.”
Especially with Copernatech looking for me.
“Here.” Faye held out her hand and Alison handed over the laptop, watching while her friend typed in her credentials then she gave the computer back.
It was a long shot, given the guy’s penchant for cheating, but the results popped up and there was a Greg Walpole’s profile listed in Vegas. Perhaps her crap luck was turning around. Once his page loaded, Alison scoured his friend list for blond men.
“So.” Faye got up to take their dishes to the kitchen. “How are you going to snag Owen?”
“What?” She scrolled through picture after picture with no luck. Boy, for a guy who liked to live on the down low, Walpole sure as hell had a lot of online friends. “I’m not trying to snag anyone. Particularly not a guy with a girlfriend.”
“Like I said.” Faye returned to her seat. “I’d bet good money he’s just playing hard to get.”
Only half-paying attention to her friend, Alison stopped near the bottom of Greg’s friend list, hovering over a picture of a blond guy who looked vaguely familiar. Cory Springer. She clicked on his name and saw him listed as Greg’s half-brother. She turned the screen to face Faye. “Is this the other guy, the one the dealer saw?”
Faye leaned in and squinted. “Yeah, looks like him.”
Grinning, Alison sat back and closed the laptop. “Bingo! We just found the real cheaters.”
10
The next day, Owen leaned against the wall in his office, watching while the casino’s top IT guy clacked away on his computer keyboard. The guy looked about twelve and was dressed the same way, but given the information Alison had discovered, he’d decided it was best to follow her trail. Her theory of Walpole having a partner made sense too, even if he still wasn’t one-hundred-percent convinced Alison might not be the partner in question.
The office door opened and Shelby and Chase walked in, glancing from the IT guy to Owen, then back again.
“Who’s he?” Shelby asked.