Cash Plays

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

“I will once I have enough actionable intelligence.”

  He was taking a big risk putting his life in Jessica’s hands. If she decided her loyalty lay with Williams after all, she could toss Dominic to the wolves whenever she wanted. He was betting his life on her desire to go home outweighing all other concerns.

  Dominic was a gambler to his core, though, and the danger of laying it all on the line only thrilled him. He’d spent his entire life chasing an adrenaline rush one way or another.

  “Do you think Johnny and Sergei will go to jail?” she asked, looking pensive.

  “It depends on how strong a case the police and the DA can build, and even then, there’s no guarantee. But it’s definitely possible.”

  “If they went to jail,” she said slowly, “even for a little while, it would give me and my parents time to get away. If nothing else, we could figure out what to do next to stay safe.”

  Anything he might say could be disastrous, so he bit his tongue.

  When she looked back at him, it was with new fire in her eyes. “I want to help you.”

  “It would put you in danger—”

  “I’m already in danger! At least this way I’d be doing something about it. I can’t keep sitting around letting these things happen to me. And I know I’m not the only one they’re hurting. If you can’t turn a blind eye, why should I?” She shook her head. “God sent you to me for a reason.”

  He didn’t agree, but he wasn’t going to challenge her faith, especially when it was working in his favor. “If you get caught . . .”

  “I won’t. I know I can access Johnny’s computer, maybe Sergei’s too. I can bring you information you’d never learn no matter how often you came here. That would help, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would be a huge help. But if you’re gonna do this, play it smart. Don’t take any risks. Your first priority has to be to protect yourself.”

  She nodded, her face the brightest he’d seen it to date. For the first time, she looked like the same hopeful young woman in her high school graduation photo.

  He hid his relief. It had been important to let Jessica propose helping of her own free will, rather than suggesting it to her himself. If it was her own idea and for her own self-interest, she’d be more committed—and therefore more cautious—than if it were simply a favor for him.

  A stout middle-aged white man hustled past them toward the craps table where Danny Park had just finished his turn. He caught Danny’s elbow, pulled him a few feet away, and engaged him in a whispered conversation that involved a lot of scowling and eye rolling on Danny’s part.

  Following Dominic’s gaze, Jessica said, “That’s Norman Mansfield. He works for Emily Park. Johnny says he’s an accountant, but he does a lot of cleaning up after Danny for a number-cruncher.”

  “Does Danny need someone to clean up after him that often?”

  “He needs a full-time babysitter, if you ask me. I’ve never seen him when he’s not drunk or high or both. He doesn’t have a job, his license was suspended for DUIs, he’s constantly womanizing . . . his entire family is ashamed of him.”

  That was consistent with what Dominic had heard. Danny was the only member of the nuclear Park family who wasn’t a lawyer, and they did seem to go out of their way to keep him out of the limelight. Dominic knew far less about Danny than his relatives.

  Mansfield put a hand between Danny’s shoulder blades and began steering him toward the exit despite his obvious protests. Sitting across the room at a poker table, Volkov was watching the argument play out as well—at least until Rocco, who was curled up in his lap as usual, laid a hand on his cheek and reclaimed his attention.

  “There’s a poker tournament next Friday night,” Jessica said. “It’s a special VIP event, way more exclusive than these casino nights and with a higher buy-in.”

  Dominic finished the last of his beer and set the glass on the bar. “I’ve heard a couple people mention it.”

  “I usually have no idea where Johnny’s going to take me on any given night, but I know for sure he and I will both be at that tournament. If you’re there too, I can pass you any information I’ve been able to gather.”

  “You think you can get me on the list?”

  “I’ll mention it to Sergei myself, and a follow-up conversation with you should be enough to seal the deal. He likes you.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

  “Do you think—” Jessica started, and then stiffened and went silent, her face wiped blank.

  Dominic turned just in time to see Milo Radich come up beside him and slap his back genially. “There you are, my friend! Care for a game?”

  “Sure.”

  “I should go find Johnny,” said Jessica. “See you later, Michael.”

  She hurried away, leaving Dominic frowning at her hasty departure. If she was that nervous about their connection, maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to involve her in his mission after all.

  Suppressing his concerns, he headed for Volkov’s table, which had a couple of open seats. He’d been slowly but surely building a solid map of the gambling ring’s organization, infrastructure, and personnel, but a chat with Volkov would boost his progress. They’d barely spoken since that first night; when Volkov wasn’t dealing with the business side of things, he was absorbed in Rocco to the exclusion of everything else.

  Milo stopped him before he’d taken more than a few steps. “Why not this one?” Milo said, indicating a poker table in the other direction. “I can’t stomach playing with Sergei when he’s pawing his boy like that.”

  “Really?” Dominic said, taken aback. From what he knew, Milo and Volkov had been good friends for years. He couldn’t imagine Volkov tolerating homophobia in such a close relationship.

  Still eyeing Volkov and Rocco with distaste, Milo said, “I just wish he would choose a man more . . . suitable.”

  At first Dominic had no idea what Milo meant. Then, with a sickening lurch of his stomach, he understood.

  Milo was racist.

  Milo caught Dominic’s expression and gave him a self-deprecating smile. “The age difference bothers me. It makes Sergei look foolish.”

  A smooth save, but Dominic wasn’t buying it. Just last night, they’d played a few hands with a city councilor and her barely legal boy toy, and Milo hadn’t shown a hint of disapproval. He’d even made a joking aside to Dominic admiring her brass.

  He thought about Jessica’s reaction to Milo’s arrival and the way Milo hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. Her discomfort hadn’t been related to her and Dominic’s secret at all.

  Dominic followed Milo to the table, but he didn’t find the man such agreeable company anymore.

  “Don’t freak out,” Martine said, quietly enough that nobody but Levi could hear her beyond their adjoining desks.

  “What?” He looked up from his computer and sucked in a breath.

  Stanton had just entered the bullpen—accompanied by none other than Jay Sawyer.

  Levi shot to his feet so fast that his chair skittered a good five feet away on the linoleum floor and drew the attention of everyone nearby. Martine stood as well, though in a more dignified manner.

  “Stanton,” she said. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “You too, Martine.” He smiled warmly and bent to kiss her cheek, all while Sawyer stood beside him giving Levi an enormous shit-eating grin. “How’ve you been? How are Antoine and the girls?”

  “We’re doing well. How about you?”

  Stanton’s smile faltered as he glanced at Levi. “I’ve been better.”

  “Seriously?” Levi burst out, not even bothering with a greeting. “Him? Did you do this just to spite me?”

  Stanton crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height. “Mr. Sawyer has one of the most impressive records of any defense attorney in Las Vegas,” he said, his chilly tone rivaling even Levi at his iciest.

  “Your company has a law firm on retainer.”

  “That’s fo
r the company’s legal defense, not mine.”

  “You know how I feel about him!” Levi’s voice shook with emotions he couldn’t even begin to name.

  “Ooh,” said Sawyer, running his eyes over Levi’s body. “How do you feel about me?”

  Levi opened his mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms, but was interrupted by Martine saying, “Okay, guys, why don’t we all take a beat here and remember that we’re in the middle of a police station?”

  “Mr. Barclay,” Wen said from behind Levi, breaking the tension. “Thank you for coming down. We have the conference room set up, and DDA Rashid should be here any moment.”

  Levi’s mouth fell open. “You knew he would be here?”

  “Of course.” Wen met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Sawyer called me this morning to arrange a meeting.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Absolutely not—”

  “Actually,” Sawyer said, “we’d like Detective Abrams to sit in on the meeting, if that’s all right. My client has nothing to hide, and since Detective Abrams is so intimately connected to the Seven of Spades case, it seems unwise to distance him from any element of the investigation.”

  Wen gave Sawyer a look that clearly said It’s your funeral, but he just nodded and led the way to the conference room.

  When Leila arrived several minutes later, she was more vocal in her censure.

  “He shouldn’t be here for this and you know it,” she said to Sawyer before she even sat down.

  Unflappable as ever, Sawyer said, “This isn’t an official legal proceeding. There’s no conflict of interest.”

  “He shouldn’t be here because he’s about one stressful event from cracking like a dropped egg, and between your puerile antics and the death glare your client is shooting him, that’s going to be sooner rather than later. As much as I’d love to see you get knocked on your ass, I’d prefer not to put Sergeant Wen in the position of arresting his own detective for battery.”

  Sawyer’s grin broadened; Wen dragged a weary hand over his face. Stanton was staring at Leila with a slightly gobsmacked expression.

  “Hi, we haven’t met,” she said, extending her hand. “Leila Rashid, deputy district attorney.”

  He shook her hand after an almost imperceptible pause. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Formidable as Detective Abrams’s wrath is, I’m willing to risk it in the interests of the greater good.” Sawyer winked at Levi.

  “I can control myself,” Levi said shortly.

  “Can you?” Leila asked.

  “Yes.”

  She shrugged and sat down. Disgruntled, Levi shifted in his seat and avoided Stanton’s eyes.

  “First things first,” Sawyer said, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. His smile was gone, his tone professional without a hint of teasing or humor. “My client is a pillar of the community with no criminal record and a long history of generous philanthropy. He is happy to assist the LVMPD with the Seven of Spades investigation in any way he can as a private citizen. However, let’s be clear that his cooperation is entirely voluntary. At no point will he be placed under arrest, and not a word of any spurious allegations will be breathed to the press.”

  “We weren’t planning on arresting him,” said Leila. “Yet.”

  Stanton flushed and drew himself up. “I’m not—”

  Sawyer put a hand on his arm. “The moment the LVMPD or the DA’s office make any hostile moves toward my client is the moment his cooperation ceases.”

  “You’ve made your point, Sawyer. What are you offering?”

  “From what Detective Abrams told my client, payments allegedly made to compensate a contract killer were traced to the Barclay Foundation and appeared to be authorized by my client himself.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “While Mr. Barclay does have electronic access to the foundation’s bank accounts, he has never used it. He entrusts the financial management of the organization to its executive leadership. Obviously, another individual used his credentials to disguise their identity while making the payments.”

  “And who might that be?” Leila asked with an air of boredom. An outside observer might have thought it was put on for show, but Levi knew it was genuine. Leila lived in a constant state of being underwhelmed by everything and everyone around her.

  “If I knew that, we’d be having a very different conversation.”

  Levi was having trouble concentrating on the back-and-forth, because the term death glare was too mild for the way Stanton was looking at him. Sitting right across the table, Stanton was making no attempt to hide his anger or disgust as he stared unflinchingly at Levi’s face.

  “My client has hired an independent forensic accountant—at his own expense—to investigate the matter further in consultation with the foundation’s CFO and the police department. We’ll also be launching a thorough examination of every foundation employee’s computer use over the past six months, with particular focus on those in accounting and IT.” Sawyer lifted his sleek leather briefcase onto the table, popped it open, and withdrew a thick sheaf of paper. “In the meantime, here are exhaustive records verifying that Mr. Barclay was out of state when at least three of the Seven of Spades murders occurred. And that’s just what I’ve managed to pull together overnight.”

  Leila and Wen exchanged a glance.

  “How could you think I might be a serial killer?” Stanton said abruptly, his eyes still trained on Levi.

  “I didn’t!” Levi’s throat ached. “I don’t.”

  “But your colleagues do and you played along.”

  “Based on the evidence, we had to at least consider the possibility—”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Stanton turned to Sawyer. “Do you need me here for the rest of this?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Barclay.”

  “Thank you.” Shoving his chair back from the table, Stanton said, “Please excuse me, Ms. Rashid, Sergeant Wen.”

  He hurried out of the room. Levi tensed, placing his hands on the arms of his own chair, then hesitated and looked at Wen.

  “Just go,” Wen said with a sigh.

  Levi jumped up and dashed after Stanton, catching up to him in the hallway. “Stanton, wait, please.”

  Stanton stopped with clear reluctance.

  “I meant what I said in there. I never for a moment believed you could be the Seven of Spades. As soon as Carmen told us what she found, I knew the killer was trying to set you up the same way they did Keith Chapman.”

  “If you had come to me honestly and told me that, I would have done everything in my power to help you,” Stanton said.

  “Those weren’t my orders.”

  Stanton scoffed. “Right, because you’re notorious for how well you follow orders. What’s the real reason?”

  Fuck it, Levi did owe him that much. “I was worried that finding out you’d been linked to the Seven of Spades would make you panic and shut me out, leaving us nothing to work with.”

  “And that was more important to you than I am?” Palming his face, Stanton muttered, “God, what am I saying, of course it was.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you—”

  “That loses a little more meaning every time you say it.” Stanton lowered his hand. “Don’t lie to yourself. You manipulated me and took advantage of me because you know I’m still in love with you. I hope it was worth it.”

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Levi watched Stanton walk away from him.

  Dominic’s phone vibrated in his pocket for the second time in three minutes. He checked it quickly and frowned when he saw it was Carlos again.

  “No phones at the table, sir,” said the blackjack dealer.

  “Sorry.” Putting his phone away, he judged his ace-seven against the dealer’s upcard—a nine. That nine would usually make him consider surrender, but not when he had a soft hand in which the ace could count as either an eleven or a one.

  Doubling down was out of the questio
n with these cards, so he tapped the table to hit. The dealer passed him another card—the two of clubs, bringing him to twenty.

  Once all the players had finished their turns, the dealer flipped her hidden card over. A five of diamonds brought her to fourteen, obliging her to hit again, and the nine of spades busted her hand at twenty-three.

  Dominic smiled, warm satisfaction curling in his gut.

  He was already preparing his next bet when his phone buzzed again. This time, Carlos had texted him.

  Where the hell are you?!?

  Okay, now Dominic was worried. He cashed himself out and left the casino as fast as he could, blinking against the afternoon sunlight as he called Carlos back on the sidewalk outside. He’d needed to blow off some steam, so he’d stopped by one of his old haunts, the Ellis Island Casino a few blocks east of the Strip, to play their five-dollar blackjack over his lunch break. Adjusting from the blinking artificial lights of a casino to natural sunlight always took a minute.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as soon as Carlos picked up. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Carlos said, his voice strained. “Seriously? Where are you?”

  Dominic glanced at the casino doors. “I got caught up in the middle of something for work.”

  “So you’re not even running late, then? You just weren’t going to show up at all?”

  Dominic stood there in silence, totally confused.

  “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Carlos said after a moment.

  “I—”

  “I’m at the tailor. For the suit fitting? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour.”

  “Oh my God,” Dominic said, guilt seizing his chest and turning his stomach. He and Carlos were supposed to get fitted for their suits for the wedding today, but he’d forgotten; it hadn’t crossed his mind once in days. “I’m so sorry.”

  Carlos said nothing.

  “I can be there in twenty minutes—”

  “It’s too late. We’ll have to reschedule.”

  Dominic braced one hand against the building and pitched forward, so awash in remorse he couldn’t stand upright. “I really am sorry. I have no excuse.”

  “It’s not just today, Dom. You’ve been MIA for like two weeks. What have you been doing?”