Raising the Stakes

by Sandra Marton

  “Hello.” She put down the papers and clasped his outstretched hand. Her fingers were cool; he thought maybe they even trembled a little…and then, suddenly he was the one who needed a lifeline because now that she didn’t have the papers clasped against her, he saw the name tag pinned to her lapel. It was enameled, he thought crazily, as if that mattered, in blue and gold.

  “I’m Dawn,” she said, when he raised shocked eyes to hers. “Dawn Carter.”

  * * *

  Mary Elizabeth O’Connell watched her son pace from the Carrera marble fireplace to the window of her living room with its view of the city and distant mountains and back again. He’d been pacing ever since he’d entered her penthouse suite a few minutes ago.

  “Mother,” he’d said, and kissed her cheek, “I thought I’d drop by to say hello.”

  Mary didn’t buy that for a minute. Keir never visited her this early in the day. Her eldest son was a man who enjoyed the stability of routine. He always spent the first hours of the working day strolling through the hotel and the casino, greeting guests and staff and making sure that all was running smoothly. That had been his pattern ever since his father’s death six years ago, when Keir came west to help her with the Desert Song. He’d only varied it when she’d been ill.

  He might be thirty-five but she could still read him like he was eleven and crazy to be the next star center on the Chicago Bulls. Keir had something on his mind and she knew it, but asking straight out had gotten her nowhere. Well, she should have figured that. He’d never been one to spill his concerns in anybody’s lap.

  “Is there a problem?” she’d said, when she’d opened the door to his familiar knock.

  “Must there be a problem for a son to pay his mother a visit?” he’d replied, and flashed a smile.

  Mary pursed her lips. For a man who had no problem, her eldest son certainly seemed determined to wear a path through the carpet. He wasn’t talkative, either. Except for saying yes, he’d like some coffee—and she strongly suspected that had been out of politeness, not desire—Keir hadn’t spoken another word.

  Time to take some action, she thought, and cleared her throat. “Keir?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You should have told me you disliked Kelim carpets.”

  That stopped him. “What?”

  “You’re going to wear a hole in my rug,” she said gently. “Come and sit down.” Mary smiled. “Besides, this excellent pot of coffee is going cold.”

  “That excellent pot of coffee which is surely decaffeinated, as your doctor ordered. Right?”

  “Right,” Mary said blithely, lying through her teeth. The doctor had ordered her to give up the cream in her coffee. He’d suggested she also give up the coffee but suggestions were only that, nothing more. “Will you have a slice of Jenny’s raisin cake?”

  Keir sat down in the blue velvet chair opposite hers and shook his head as he accepted the delicate porcelain cup and saucer she handed him.

  “Thank you, but no. Coffee’s all I want.”

  Keir took a sip of coffee. One taste, and he flashed her a look through narrowed eyes that said he suspected the brew was the real stuff. She returned his gaze with what she hoped was charming innocence and, after another sip, he sighed and sat back in the chair, all but dwarfing it with his size. Looking at him she wondered, as she so often did, how she and her Ruarch could have produced such a son. Such sons, she thought, correcting herself. They were all so big. Not that her Ruarch hadn’t been big, too, and wonderfully brawny until almost the end, when he’d been so thin that it had broken her heart to see him…

  “Mother?”

  Lord, she missed him. Six years, and still she reached a hand out to touch him in the night. They’d spent more than forty-three years together, she and Ruarch. You didn’t meet a man when you were barely seventeen, marry him two months later, bear him six children and not feel as if a piece had been carved out of your heart when you lost him…

  “Mother?”

  Mary blinked away the past and smiled at her son. `Yes, love. Have you decided you’d like some cake after all?”

  “Don’t try to divert me. You had that look on your face again.”

  “What look?” Mary picked up a knife from the silver serving tray the maid had set on the low table between the two chairs. “Just a little slice, to keep Jenny happy.”

  “Not even a crumb. It’s too early in the day.” Keir’s voice took on an edge of command. “None for you, either, Mother. You know what the doctor said.”

  Mary O’Connell clucked her tongue against her teeth. “What does he know? He’s hardly out of diapers.”

  “He has enough diplomas from enough fancy places to paper these walls, and he’s seen what your arteries look like.”

  “Looked like.” Mary took a sip of her coffee. “Thanks to this bread and water diet, my arteries probably look magnificent by now. I can see the obituary already.” Her voice dropped in pitch. “`Mary Elizabeth O’Connell, once feared for her sharp tongue, ruled the Desert Song Hotel and Casino until she grew old, weak and useless. She leaves behind three sons, three daughters, and an arterial system so beautiful that it won the praise of every high-priced teenaged cardiologist in Nevada, California and points east including Boston and New York…’“

  Keir laughed, as she’d hoped he would. “You’re not dying. And you’re not old, weak or useless.”

  “I notice you haven’t corrected that phrase about me having a sharp tongue.”

  “I prefer to think of you as having a rapier wit.” He smiled, lifted her free hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “Are you sure you’re feeling well, Duchess?”

  “Wonderfully well, if painfully bored. I see Dr. Maudlin next week and when I do, I’m going to tell him it’s time I started easing back into work.”

  “His name is Mandlin,” Keir said, his lips curving in a grin.

  “Whatever. I’m weary of sitting on my butt. It’s time I began putting in an honest eight hours.”

  “Don’t you mean twelve?”

  Mary sat back, her hands clasping the carved arms of her chair, and fixed her son with an exasperated look.

  “You’ve been helping me run this place ever since your father died, and doing it all on your own these past months. Can you look me in the eye and tell me it’s an eight-hour-a-day job?”

  “No,” Keir said bluntly. What was the sense of arguing with his mother when she knew the truth as well as he did? “But you can’t do it all by yourself. You’ll need to delegate authority.”

  “I did. I delegated it to you.”

  And you’ll need to delegate it to someone else, once you’re back on your feet. That was what he longed to tell her, but how could he? She’d told him, dozens of times, that she’d never have been able to keep the Song without him. How could he tell her that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running this place, especially when he had no idea what it was he did want to spend his life doing?

  “Keir? Is that why you’ve been pacing like a caged tiger? Have you come to tell me you’re weary of running the Song?”

  “No,” he said quickly, “of course not.” Keir put his hands on his thighs, sighed and rose to his feet. “Something’s come up.”

  “About?”

  “About Dawn Carter. The girl I just put into that Special Services slot.”

  “I know who she is. I suggested her for the job, remember?” Mary stood up, too. “What’s the matter? Has something happened to her?”

  “No.” He shook his head, saw the sudden pallor in his mother’s face and cursed sharply as he went to her side and caught her shoulders in his hands. “Sit down, for God’s sake.”

  “The girl—”

  “The girl’s fine. Jesus, I didn’t mean to scare you. I only want to discuss a situation that involves her, that’s all.”

  Mary nodded. She’d liked the girl on sight and what she’d subsequently learned about her had brought out all her protective maternal instincts. If D
awn were her daughter…

  “Mother?”

  “Yes, I heard you. Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Sit down and tell me about it.”

  Keir folded himself into the chair and sat forward, his hands on his knees. “I want to know what you’ve kept from me about Dawn.”

  “Why?” Mary’s slender white brows lifted. “Are you interested in her?”

  “Yes. No. Not the way you mean.” He laughed. “Will you ever stop trying to get me married off?”

  “No,” Mary said immediately. “How can I, if I’m to have a grandchild? Not a one of you, not Sean or Cullen or Meagan or Fallon or Briana, has seen fit to marry and give me babies, or even give me babies and then marry, if that’s the only way I’m to see the O’Connell name carried on.”

  Keir grinned. “Why, Ma, I’m shocked.”

  “It would take more than that to shock you and we both know it.” Mary smiled and patted her son’s hand. “Now, tell me what this is all about.”

  “I just did. I want to know what secrets you’re keeping about Dawn Carter.” His mother opened her mouth and he spoke quickly, before she could get out a word. “Don’t waste your breath lying, Duchess. You’ve hovered over the girl since she came to work for us. There’s no sense denying it.”

  “There’s nothing to deny. She’s bright, she works hard, she wants to make something of herself. Those are all qualities that suit our management style. We’ve always believed in promoting from the ranks.”

  “Yes, yes and yes.” Keir leaned closer. “But we both know there’s more to it than that. You do have a special interest in her. And just now, when I said I wanted to talk about her, you turned white as a sheet.”

  “What you said was that something had come up.”

  “So? That’s hardly cause for panic. Something’s always coming up. It’s part of the business. Last month, when we found out that eye in the sky was malfunctioning. Or when the girl in the Reveille kitchen decided it might be more interesting to use a knife to cut up her former boyfriend instead of the potatoes…”

  “Those things are different.”

  “They are, for a fact, and you know the reason? No, don’t bother answering. I’ll tell it to you. It’s because those incidents didn’t involve Dawn. She’s always on your mind, or so it seems. When I discussed moving someone into the high stakes tables, you suggested her. The same when I mentioned we’d need to add a new Special Services rep. And for every time you’ve asked me how some employee is working out, you ask that same question about Dawn at least twice.”

  “I like the girl, is all. Is that a crime?”

  “You know something about her—something important—that you haven’t told me.” Keir’s eyes narrowed. “And since Dawn works for us, yes, that’s a crime, Duchess. To hold back on me when I’m in charge is definitely a crime in my book.”

  Mary looked deep into her son’s eyes. Was he right? She and Ruarch had never looked into the background files of their employees unless the head of security said there was a problem and in those instances, they’d never shared the information with anyone else. That was all she was doing with regard to Dawn…or was it? Keir was in charge now. She still owned the Song but the power was in his hands. Had she kept the information about the girl from him because she’d always done it that way, or because she didn’t want to acknowledge how impotent she felt since the heart attack?

  Whatever the reason, she knew she’d made a mistake. It needed to be rectified.

  “You’re right,” she said softly. “You’re in charge, Keir. I shouldn’t hold anything from you.”

  “You’ll always be the one in command,” he said gruffly, “but as long as I’m responsible for the Song’s day to day operation, I need to know what’s going on.”

  Mary reached for the phone and hit a button. “Dan? Yes, it’s me. Would you pull the Carter girl’s file and bring it up? All of it, yes. Yes, thank you. Right now.”

  She looked at Keir, then stood. He leaped up and held out his hand but she smiled and brushed it aside.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.” Her voice was gentle but there was no mistaking the warning tone it carried. Keir nodded and followed his mother through the doors that led onto the wide penthouse balcony and into the heat of midmorning.

  “Too hot?” she said, looking up at him.

  “Not if your middle name is Satan,” he said, and grinned at her.

  “Your father always said the same thing. He thought I was crazy, when I’d go out into the sun, but I love the feel of it.” She clasped the railing and looked at him again. “When Dan Coyle gets here, you’ll read Dawn’s file. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Can’t you tell me what’s in it?’

  Mary shook her head. “I’d rather you read it for yourself. I’m a woman. I might put my own emotional interpretation on the details.”

  His mother was never emotional when it came to business but Keir waited, his curiosity growing by the moment. By the time he looked through the glass doors and saw Jenny bringing Dan Coyle, the head of security, toward them, he’d gone from imagining Dawn as a runaway heiress to imagining her as a reformed murderer. Knowing his mother, either was possible. If Mary thought a person was worth a chance, she’d offer it.

  Dan slid the door open. Sixty-something, with a thatch of graying hair and looking as fit as if he were twenty years younger, Coyle was a man who always seemed glad he’d started a new career. Keir and his mother had hired him two days after he’d retired from thirty years with the New York City police department as a captain of detectives, and Keir had never had a moment’s regret about the decision. Dan was a good cop with an honest soul and a kind heart. He was also the only man outside the O’Connell family who had ever had the guts to address Mary by her nickname and live to tell the tale, Keir thought wryly.

  Dan smiled as he shook Keir’s hand. “Keir. Duchess. I see you’re both trying for heat stroke.”

  “I’d rather be trying out the deep-freeze, but you know my mother.”

  Both men chuckled. Mary clucked her tongue. “The sun’s good for you,” she said. “For me, anyway. It warms old bones.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Dan said lightly, “but I don’t see any old bones around here.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Coyle.”

  “It’s not flattery, it’s the absolute truth.”

  Keir looked from his mother to Coyle. Dan was still smiling politely; Mary was looking her usual imperious self. No, he thought, as an impossible thought flashed through his head, no, never.

  “So,” Dan said crisply, “you wanted the Carter file.” He glanced at Keir, then back to Mary. “The whole thing, right?”

  “Yes. The whole thing. Give it to Keir, please.”

  “Is there some kind of problem with the girl?”

  “Just give him the file, Mr. Coyle.”

  “Oh. Sure. Here you go, Keir.” Dan cleared his throat. “Is there a problem with the girl?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Keir slid open the balcony door. “Not until after I see what’s in here. And if you don’t mind, Mother, I’d rather not broil while I take a look.”

  Dan and Mary followed him inside. Keir went automatically to the one incongruously out of place piece of furniture in the elegant room, the big, overstuffed armchair that had been his father’s. His mother had refurnished the place after Ruarch O’Connell’s death. She hadn’t asked Keir’s approval but if she had, he’d have given it. He knew it was the only way she could put the loss behind her and begin to move on, but she’d never brought herself to dispose of the chair. Too many memories, she said, and Keir agreed. He’d spent a good part of his life watching his old man sit in that chair, his feet on the beaten-up hassock before it, reviewing the day’s events or thinking through a problem.

  Keir opened the file.

  The first page was the usual stuff. A photo of Dawn, looking solemn and maybe even nervous, but most people did when taking driver’s license and
ID photos. Her personal data followed. Name, date of birth, place of birth, social security number. Married? No. Children? None. Educational history? High school diploma. Work history. A list of jobs, dating back eight years. Had she ever been arrested? No. Had she ever been hospitalized for a mental illness? No.

  He looked up. “This is all standard stuff. What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Dan and Mary looked at each other, then at him. A muscle jerked in Dan’s jaw. “You’ll know when you see it.”

  Keir turned a page. This was the in-depth report, the one Dan always ran once the decision had been made to hire anyone who would have access to cash. Keir glanced at the first few lines, frowned, flipped back to the prior page…

  “Hey,” he said, “what is this?” He looked up. His mother and Coyle were watching him with interest. “This says her name isn’t Carter. It’s Kitteridge.” He turned the pages again. “It says she wasn’t born in Phoenix, that her D.O.B. isn’t the one she gave…” He stood up. “What the hell is this, Coyle? When’d you discover the girl lied, and why is she still an employee here?”

  “Take it easy, Keir.”

  “Take it easy?” Keir slapped the file on the table. “The girl lied to get a job. A job in a licensed casino, for Christ’s sake. You’re supposed to keep that kind of thing from happening, and you tell me to take it—”

  “I told Dan to bury this.”

  He swung around and stared at his mother. She stared right back, head up, arms folded, her very posture making it clear she wasn’t about to back down from the confrontation. Keir reminded himself that this was his mother, that it was her heart that had suffered damage, not her brain, and that losing his temper wasn’t going to get him any answers. He took a deep breath, jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded.

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do. For reasons known only to you, you made a unilateral decision, an arbitrary decision, to hire a woman whose entire application is a lie, to put the Song into a vulnerable legal position—”

  “Why don’t you read all of it before you come to a conclusion?”