Deep Cover--A Love Over Duty Novel

by Scarlett Cole

  “Frustrated,” Valentina replied honestly. “I encourage him to find something new he loves.”

  Amy couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have to give up a career you adored. She loved working for the FBI, and she loved the problems she had to solve on a daily basis. She loved the way it helped her feel connected to her mom, but would it crush her if she had to give it up for some reason? She wasn’t sure.

  “Anyway,” Valentina said with a wave of her hand at if she were physically pushing the problem away, “I need to turn you into a dealer, today, si?”

  Amy grinned. “Yes, you do. I already know the basics, but I don’t know how to be the greatest like you are.”

  Now it was Valentina’s turn to smile. “We will never make you as great as I am in a day, but I will get you pretty darn close.” Valentina pulled a tray of chips from beneath the table she was standing next to. It was full of all the different colors, everything from the blue-and-white dollar chip to the black-and-white hundred-dollar chip. Even the rare pink one, which was occasionally used for the three-to-two payoff in blackjack. There was a stopwatch on top of the tray, which Valentina put to one side before upending the chips into a huge pile into the middle of the table. She leaned in and spread them around, making sure they were completely mixed. “First we will work on your basics.” She stood and reached for the stopwatch. “The goal of a good dealer is to minimize the length of time the table is out of play. This is for two reasons. One, it is obvious that the casino will make more money if more hands are played in twenty-four hours. But two, and personally the one I think is most important, is that you do not want to disrupt the players’ flow. Regardless of whether they are on a hot streak and don’t want to break it, or whether they are on a cold one and want to break it, every disruption to the game can throw them off. I’ve always believed my goal is to help them enjoy their experience—while I take their money, of course.” Valentina gestured to the pile in the middle of the table. “At the end of the hand, or a turn, the table can be full of chips. And it is important for you to be able to clear it as quickly as possible to keep everyone in play and to stop anyone from walking away because of the time it is taking you to clear the chips. I want you to show me how quickly you can sort and stack the chip tray.”

  She’d been around chips her entire life, could stack them and shuffle them until they were interlaced. But she’d never timed herself.

  “Go!” Valentina shouted.

  Amy scanned the table, working as quickly she could to find the blue-and-white ones. When she had stacked as many as were obvious, she moved to the pink ones, and then repeated switching colors each time she felt her options were running low until finally the table was clear and the tray full. “How did I do?” she asked Amy, hopefully.

  Valentina rolled her eyes. “I am too ashamed to tell you the time,” she said, shaking her head playfully. “But I promise you that within the next hour you will halve it.”

  By the time lunchtime came around, Amy had not only successfully halved her time but had gotten it to within fifteen seconds of Valentina’s. She’d also received a refresher on the rules of all the games played at the Lucky Seven. As a dealer, she’d need to handle all the casino table games, not just the ones she played frequently.

  “Where are you hiding my baby girl?” a large voice boomed from the hallway.

  Valentina nodded her head in the direction of the doorway. “You should go find him before he disrupts any of the private tables,” she said with a smile.

  Amy wandered to the door and found her Stetson-clad father looking into one of the rooms. “I’m right here, Dad,” she said as she hurried to him and hugged him in the hallway. He smelled of leather and cigar smoke. Maybe it was because she’d lost her mother so many years ago, but it was impossible to explain the feeling of safety that washed over her when she was fortunate enough to spend time around her father.

  “Let me look at you,” he said, taking a step away from her. He studied her face. “Humph. San Diego appears to agree with you. I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t.”

  “It does. And while you know I can’t talk about what I’m working on, the job does too.” Over her father’s shoulder, she saw Cabe walking toward them with Uncle Clive. She smiled when she noticed that Cabe was wearing a black jacket that fit him to perfection. He’d remembered. “Dad, let me introduce you to Cabe Moss.”

  Her father turned and offered Cabe his hand. “Well, aren’t you one big son of a bitch? If you’re the guy who has my little girl’s back, I feel better already.”

  Cabe’s face broke into a grin. “My pleasure, sir.”

  “Sir. I like manners in a man. Military?”

  “A SEAL, sir.” Cabe said.

  “Well, let’s see if we can’t teach you a thing or two. Which room are we in, Clive?”

  As Uncle Clive led her father farther down the hallway, she turned and noticed Cabe’s eyes were on her legs. Her bare legs. “Eyes up here, soldier,” she said, humor in her tone. It made her feel warm inside that he was looking.

  “It’s sailor,” he said with a wink. “They’re good-looking legs, and I’m only human.”

  It was wrong to let him flirt, it was wrong for her to respond, but for a moment, she wanted to pretend the rules didn’t apply. She reached forward and brushed a piece of lint off the shoulder of his jacket, then smoothed down his lapels. It was an intimate thing to do, she knew. And a risk, given the requirement to stay focused on the job. But hell, a piece of her had always believed in the what-happens-in-Vegas slogan. Here, in the middle of Caesars Palace, the real world didn’t truly exist. “You look good in a suit, sailor.”

  Cabe placed his hands on top of hers and squeezed them gently. “You’re killing me, Ames.”

  The heat of his fingers burned her inside. Made her want things she had no business wanting from a man she had no business wanting them from. “Why Ames?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just like it. It’s catchy. Makes you sound like one of those TV cop heroines from the seventies.”

  Amy looked at their joined hands for just a millisecond longer before pulling them away. “You should go and start practicing,” she said. “If I’m going to work my way into the Lucky Seven Casino’s inner circle, I’d feel better if you were there too.”

  “I’ll be there. But rest assured, even if I’m not invited, I’ll find a way to cover your back.” Cabe placed his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her forward gently to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be there, even if you can’t see me. I promise.”

  * * *

  “That,” Cabe said, pushing his plate into the center of the table to resist the urge to scoop another morsel onto his plate, “was the best food I have had in forever.”

  And it was true. The yellowtail with jalapeño had provided the perfect kick, the rock shrimp tempura had been cooked to perfection, and the Japanese wagyu beef was so melt-in-the-mouth tender that he’d dream about it for weeks to come.

  But part of him wanted to keep eating just to prolong the time he could spend talking with Amy, who sat opposite him in the booth of Nobu in Caesars Palace, wearing a pretty cream dress and a content look on her face that surely matched his own. “I want to eat the rest of that vanilla miso tart,” she said with a groan. “But I worry that if I do, I might not fit back into my uniform next week. Or my stomach might explode.”

  When Amy had floated the idea that they return to her Las Vegas home to perfect their skills before assuming their undercover roles, he’d been skeptical. But when she’d told him she would take care of the details for their trip, he hadn’t imagined the luxury he’d spent the day in. He’d pictured crashing at her father’s place and practicing his poker skills over a kitchen table. Most definitely not a day spent in a private room with some poker legends where he’d at least doubled his skill set, dinner at one of the best restaurants on the Strip, and a suite upstairs with a kick-ass bed just waiting for him to fall into. Even if he�
�d be falling into it alone.

  The last mouthful of wine sloshed against the side of Amy’s glass as she swirled it softly. Not that it had been any old bottle of white. It was a Coche-Dury Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru, according to the label, and nearly two and a half thousand dollars a bottle according to the wine list. He’d never been more relieved to not be paying the bill in his life. Somewhere between Uncle Clive and Floyd Murray, the whole thing had been comped. He’d been surprised the two men had been able to call in such big favors, but then he’d seen the way Clive was treated by customers when he was in the pit … like some kind of poker star royalty who shook players’ hands, greeted them by name, and remembered some little detail about the person’s life story from his or her previous trip to the casino three years before. Cabe appreciated that level of recall.

  And Floyd. Well, the fact that he’d changed a quarter of a million into chips once Cabe’s training had finished without so much as batting an eye told him that Floyd was likely one of the casino’s legendary high rollers.

  Amy finished her wine and then ran her tongue along her lower lip as she placed the glass back on the table. The simple gesture made his heart race a little faster. It was wrong to think about her in any other way than as his colleague, but somehow that message had yet to reach his dick. The simplest thing to do would be to head back to his room.

  “Tell me some more about what you learned today,” Cabe said, leaning back into the booth instead.

  She tapped her fingers on the table as she thought. They were long and slender, her nails perfectly squared off and unpainted. Practical, like she was. “It’s the details. Like I had no idea that there was a serial number on the wheel and the bowl of a roulette wheel and that they have to match. And there is a skill to sorting a large stack of chips. Valentina had me sort and stack over and over again until I was fast enough. I’m going to have to practice at home, though. I had to card count every blackjack hand, just as if I was playing, and she’d challenge me. The first time she asked what my count was, I said “minus seven.” She told me it was minus six … and I dithered. Then she said I was right and that I shouldn’t allow myself to be put off. I had to act like I knew best, have confidence in myself, you know? And that I should always stand by my first count because the odds were I was right.”

  “Explain it to me. How do you card count?”

  Amy grinned, reached into her purse, and pulled out a pack of cards. “It’s pretty easy. Let’s do the basic Hi-Lo method. High cards are good for the player. Ten, jack, queen, king, ace. They get assigned a minus-one count. A minus because as the number of them in the deck gets depleted, your advantage as a player goes down. The opposite is true for the low cards. Two through six are good for the dealer, so they get a plus-one count. As these cards are depleted, the players’ advantage goes up because there are fewer low cards left in the deck to hurt them. Seven through nines are neutral, so they have no value.”

  She dealt them both a pair of cards, faceup. Her fingers lingered near her cards, and Cabe wondered how she’d feel if he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her tanned skin.

  “Ace, three,” she said. “That’s a minus one and a plus one. You got a zero. I got a queen, jack. Lucky me.”

  “Which is a complete fix, by the way,” Cabe said as he grinned. “Must be your lousy shuffle.”

  Amy tilted her head and laughed. Her hair fell over her shoulder, revealing the smooth skin of her neck and shoulder. And god, now he was thinking of pressing his lips there too. He probably should have stopped with the wine a glass ago because when she looked at him the way she was looking at him now, it was easy to forget they had a job to do.

  “Hey, I have a great shuffle game according to Ortega,” she said, tapping her own cards. “But what’s my score?”

  Two high cards, minus one plus minus one. Easy. “Minus two. And I don’t believe Ortega. You’re a cheat!”

  She laughed. “Most definitely not. But now the running count is minus two. Because that’s what my score plus your score equals.” Amy dealt another two hands.

  Cabe checked the cards. All low. “Four low cards, all plus one, making the hand plus four.”

  Amy placed her hand on top of his, and Cabe relished the warmth. They both leaned into the table, their heads closer. “Yes! But the running count for the entire blackjack game is the minus two from the first hand and the plus four from this hand, which means it is plus two.”

  This close, he could see how pink her lips were. For heaven’s sake, he was going to need a cold shower when he got back to his room.

  “So you keep a running count of the game, and the lower the count, the less you bet, the higher the count, the more you bet?” Cabe asked.

  “Nearly. You have to convert that to a true count because there are up to five packs of cards in play, each with all the high and low cards. It’s simple math. You take the running count and divide it by the number of packs of cards left. For example, a count of nine with four and a half decks left leaves you with a true count of two.” Amy gathered the cards up and slipped them back into her purse.

  “Jesus, that’s a lot of math on the fly for every hand.” Noticing the restaurant was starting to empty, Cabe looked at his watch. How was it suddenly after midnight?

  “It is. And you have to do it all in your head while holding conversations with other players around you so the casino can’t tell you’re card counting.”

  Cabe stood and offered Amy his hand to assist her from the seat. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, plus he just wanted to touch her once more. Her fingers gripped his, and for a moment, he thought she was going to keep hold. The sigh followed by the slight frown told him she was grappling with the two of them just as much as he was, and she let go of his hand.

  He led them to the elevator that would take them to their rooms. The Nobu tower elevator required him to scan his room pass before entering, and Amy’s room was just across the hall from his own. The doors slid open, and unable to resist, he placed a hand on Amy’s lower back to guide her inside, where they stood with their backs to the rear wall, almost shoulder to shoulder, but not quite touching. The elevator was devoid of people but filled with the same kind of tension that always ignited when they were alone. The door slid shut painfully slowly, enclosing them in the small space. He could feel the heat of her skin close to his, and the nearness made the hairs on his arms stand on end as truly as if he were standing in the middle of an electrical storm.

  He tried to focus on the reasons why she shouldn’t have the effect on him that she did, but he couldn’t list even one. His mind and his senses were filled with only her.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked hoarsely. Surely he couldn’t be the only one who felt it.

  After a momentary pause that felt like an hour but was likely shorter than the span of a heartbeat, Amy sighed. “I wish I could say I didn’t, but I do.”

  He looked at the numbers, willing them to get to their floor before he did something stupid. But they took too damn long, and he couldn’t help himself. He turned to face her, placed one hand on the wall behind her head, and placed the palm of the other against her cheek, cupping it softly. “Tell me no and I won’t,” he whispered. Perhaps she could be strong enough for the two of them. Perhaps she could see through the heat of the moment, see what it would mean for the op if they gave in to feeling instead of thinking.

  “We shouldn’t,” she said, turning her gaze to his. Her eyes were wide, and she ran that damn tongue of hers along her lower lip. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what it would feel like.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers, heard her gasp of breath, and took a deep one of his own. But the feeling didn’t pass. It kept building, the heat cycling between the two of them, growing, burning, until it was all Cabe could do to hold her gaze. They had to be sure.

  One second ticked by. Then another.

  Just when he felt as though he might be able to rein in his em
otions, Amy tilted her head, the warmth of her breath tickling his skin. She was so close, he was certain that if he so much as opened his mouth to speak, his lips would brush hers.

  “Kiss me, Cabe,” she breathed.

  And he did. Slowly at first. She was a woman who deserved to be savored first and devoured later. Hopefully there would be time for both. He pressed his lips to hers as her arms reached for his waist and pulled him into the cradle of her body. His imagination hadn’t done the moment justice. He’d not expected to feel the rush of blood … to his head and his cock. He hadn’t expected to feel this way about a woman ever again, let alone about a single kiss.

  She tugged at him in a way he couldn’t explain but was determined to show. His trailed his tongue along the seam of her lips, groaning as she opened for him.

  The elevator pinged and came to a halt.

  Amy put her hand on his chest.

  Fuck.

  He moved away from her as the door slid open.

  “I’m glad I know,” Amy said as she stepped out into the hallway. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips even pinker than they had been at dinner.

  “Know what?” he asked gruffly as he discreetly rearranged himself, taking her hand.

  The smile she gave him was cute as all hell. “What it will be like when this is all over.”

  His heart dropped, realizing what she meant a fraction before his brain did. “You aren’t saying what I think you are, are you?”

  Amy backed away from him toward their rooms. Their fingers fell away from each other. “If you’re thinking that we can’t do this while we work together, you’re right. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. And I’m sorry for that, but I guess I just needed to know what it was going to be like when this is all over and you take me out on a date.”

  “A date?” A date.

  Slowly, she ran her fingertips across her lips. And deep down, he knew she wasn’t doing it to tease him, she was reliving that singular moment of perfection they’d fallen into during the elevator ride.”Yes. A date. Ask me out when this is over, and I promise you it’s a definite yes.”