Cash Plays

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  “How do you know this is for me? If the Seven of Spades wanted me to have this, why would they use you as a messenger instead of just delivering it to me themselves?”

  “Because I’m probably the only person they know of who would understand this was for you, could be trusted to pass it along, and would be able to explain what it means.”

  “What it means? It’s a blank piece of plastic.”

  Sawyer took Levi’s hand and tilted it toward the yellow haze of the parking lot’s security lamps. As the light glinted off the card at an angle, it revealed a few lines of subtle writing: tomorrow night’s date along with a time and address.

  “This is for an underground poker tournament,” said Sawyer. “Invite-only, very exclusive, some of the city’s biggest high rollers.”

  “Why would the Seven of Spades want me to know about an illegal poker game?”

  “Because it may or may not be connected to certain recent events you may or may not have an interest in.”

  “Why? Who goes to these things?”

  “It’s not who goes to them.” Sawyer looked at Levi steadily. “It’s who runs them.”

  The force of the insinuation rocked Levi back on his heels. “Are you breaking privilege to tell me this? Sawyer, you could be disbarred!”

  “I would never break privilege.” Sawyer sounded genuinely offended. “I didn’t learn about this through a client. It’s not protected information.”

  “But it’s also not something you should be telling me.”

  Sawyer spread his hands wide. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not be the next person with the Seven of Spades’s knife at my throat if it’s all the same to you. Listen, you should pass this along to your sergeant, or maybe that FBI guy. If the Seven of Spades is interested in these games, there’s probably more going on than even I’m aware of.”

  Levi bit his lip as he studied the card.

  “Levi.” Sawyer was watching him with alarm. “I know what you’re thinking, but you cannot show up at that address tomorrow. That card may serve as an invitation, but if you’re not on the list, you’ll still raise suspicions. Plus, between the Seven of Spades case and that YouTube video, you’re more recognizable by the day. It’s not just people in law enforcement who might know you on sight now.”

  “I have to go. The last time the Seven of Spades left me a trail to follow, there were a dozen children’s lives at stake.”

  “I’m not saying you should ignore the lead, but why does it have to be you personally?”

  “Because—” Levi floundered for a moment before he admitted the truth. “Because I don’t trust anyone else to handle it.”

  “Oh my God,” Sawyer said, tipping his face heavenward. “And people say my ego’s out of control.” He raised a hand when Levi made to speak. “You’re going to do whatever you want regardless of what I say. So if you decide to be an idiot and take this completely unnecessary risk, my advice is to keep in mind that the more money you have, the fewer questions these kinds of people will ask. All right? That’s where my involvement in this begins and ends.”

  “Understood. I will need the security footage from your firm’s parking garage, though.”

  “I already sent it to you.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Sawyer’s usual swagger returned as he stepped closer to Levi and grasped Levi’s chin. “Watch yourself, Detective,” he said quietly. “I’d hate to see you mess up this pretty face.”

  Levi knocked his hand away. Sawyer grinned and turned back the way he’d come.

  “Sawyer! Wait. There’s something I’ve been wondering.”

  “Mmm?”

  “You hit on every attractive person who crosses your path, but I’ve never seen you try anything with Leila,” Levi said, giving voice to something that had been nagging at him for a few days. “You’re bisexual; she’s a beautiful woman. Why don’t you treat her the way you treat me?”

  “You’re joking, right?” Sawyer said with a laugh. “I’m a masochist, Levi. I’m not suicidal—unlike you, apparently.”

  Levi rolled his eyes.

  Sawyer tilted his head as he walked backward, melting into the darkness of the parking lot. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Levi,” Stanton said, looking up from the briefcase he was packing on the desk in his palatial corner office. “What are you doing here so late? How did you even get in the building?”

  “The security guards still recognize me. I told them I was here to see you and they didn’t question it.”

  It also helped that Stanton had sent his assistant home for the day—Levi had strolled right in.

  Stanton snapped his briefcase shut with unnecessary force and picked it up. “I was just leaving—”

  “I need something from you,” Levi said. “But I don’t want to use or deceive you the way I did the other day, so I’m going to give you something first.”

  “And what would that be?” Stanton asked warily.

  “The truth.”

  Stanton hesitated, then set his briefcase back on the desk and nodded.

  Levi swallowed hard. He’d planned what he was going to say the whole way here, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to get the words out. “You were the first man I truly loved,” he said. “And I was so in love with you, Stanton; I loved you with every part of me. When I met you, you were exactly what I needed. You made my world better in a thousand different ways. No matter how our relationship ended, most of those memories are ones I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.”

  Clearing his throat, Stanton looked away. Levi took a moment to breathe through his own discomfort.

  “But people grow, and change, and you and I were growing in opposite directions. We couldn’t make each other happy anymore because we couldn’t give each other enough of what we needed. That’s nobody’s fault. It’s just what happens sometimes.”

  Stanton opened his mouth, but Levi gave him a pleading glance and he shut it without saying anything.

  “I kissed Dominic before you and I broke up. That was wrong, and I’m sorry. I know it feels like I left you for him; maybe there’s nothing I can ever say to convince you otherwise. Even if Dominic had never entered the picture, though, things between you and me would have ended anyway. It was already over.”

  Levi stepped closer. Stanton stayed where he was, watching Levi with a furrowed brow.

  “But just because I’m the one who walked out doesn’t mean it was easy for me.” Levi’s voice shook. “Leaving you was . . . agonizing. For weeks I felt like I was missing a limb. Even though I knew I’d done the right thing, I doubted my decision so many times. When I was unpacking in my new apartment, I found one of your shirts mixed in with mine and I almost had a nervous breakdown.” He gave a helpless shrug and said, “I still have that shirt buried in a drawer. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to go through the awkwardness of returning it, but the truth is I like having that reminder of you.”

  Stanton’s stunning blue eyes were bright with unshed tears now, his mouth half-open.

  “I don’t want you to think that I don’t care, or that ending our relationship wasn’t one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced.” Levi’s breath came faster. “I need you to know that I miss you, and although I might not be in love with you anymore, I still love you. I always will. If you ever need me for anything, I won’t hesitate for a second. You’re important to me and I want you to be happy.”

  He had to stop there, too choked up to continue, but he’d said what he needed to say.

  Stanton stared at Levi, leaning against the side of his desk like he might fall over without the support. “What can I do to help?” he asked after a moment.

  Levi’s eyes fell shut in sheer relief. “I need money,” he said. “A lot of money. And I need it in cash.”

  The warehouse hosting the underground poker tournament was a boxy concrete monstrosity in the middle of an industrial-commercial area that had seen better days. Once Dominic
had been patted down by the guards and shown inside, however, it was like stepping into a different world.

  For this special event, the drama and glamour of the everyday casino nights had been dialed up to eleven. The cavernous interior was made more intimate with billowing silk drapes in white and blood red hung from the walls and ceiling. Ornate black lacquered folding screens had been placed strategically to further break up the space and provide the illusion of distinct rooms. Several sleek bars in different corners encouraged mingling, while servers dressed to the nines circulated with drinks and hors d’oeuvres to the melodic strains of a string quartet.

  Dominic had been to poker tournaments before, but never one quite like this. It was intended more as a fantasy for adventurous high rollers than hard-core poker playing—but that could be to his advantage. He might be one of the most experienced players here.

  The game didn’t start for a while, so he made the rounds, greeting the people he’d gotten to know over the past two weeks and capturing footage on the hidden camera threaded through one of his jacket’s buttonholes. He wound up at a bar and was sipping a vodka soda when Jessica approached him.

  She was wearing a flattering burnt-orange dress with a conservative neckline and long sleeves, diamonds sparkling in her ears and around her neck. She was also jumpy as hell, and started rummaging in her purse the moment she joined him.

  “Stop,” he murmured. “Relax. Take a few deep breaths and order yourself a drink. There’s no rush.”

  She nodded, shook out her trembling hands, and followed his advice, requesting a glass of pinot grigio from the bartender. Once she had her drink, they moved farther down the bar for more privacy.

  “You have something?” he asked.

  “A flash drive. I didn’t know what I should look for, so I grabbed everything off Johnny’s computer that I could. I even got onto Sergei’s too—you wouldn’t believe how easy his password was to figure out.”

  “Something to do with Rocco?”

  Her lips quirked. “The date and place they met.”

  “That’s awesome, Jessica. You’re doing great.” He glanced around casually to ensure nobody was paying any particular attention to them. “Do you have a tube of lipstick in your purse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What I want you to do is tuck the flash drive up against the side of the lipstick so it’s facing the bar. As you take them out of your purse, knock your wineglass over and then set them on the counter still pressed together. Got it?”

  With a short nod, she pushed a hand back into her shiny purse. She did a convincing job of acting startled and dismayed when she tipped the glass, spilling pinot grigio all over the bar.

  Dominic grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and began mopping up the wine. Capitalizing on the distraction, he let his free hand hover over the lipstick, flicked his finger out, and slid the flash drive into his palm. Then he lifted his arm so the drive fell down the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  The bartender hurried over and helped them clean up, waving off Jessica’s profuse apologies and pouring her a new glass of wine. After he went back to the other patrons at the bar, Jessica looked down and seemed surprised to see the flash drive was gone.

  Dominic put his hand in his pocket and let the drive drop out of his sleeve. “Go ahead and touch up your lipstick like that’s what you meant to do all along.”

  She swiped the dark-red shade over her lips, returned the tube to her purse, and smiled at him.

  “Perfect,” he said, smiling back. “Now all we have to do is talk a couple minutes longer so we don’t raise any suspicions.”

  “Talk? About what?”

  “Anything you want. What were you studying in school before you left?”

  He kept her talking for a bit, not just to avoid suspicion but to make sure she was calm and not second-guessing what she’d done. By the time Williams came to collect her, Dominic was confident she could hold herself together. He greeted Williams cordially and excused himself to hit the restroom before the game started.

  On his way back, he was walking behind one of the many folding screens when he heard two male voices in hushed, urgent conversation. He went still and listened.

  “I told you that you should have canceled this event,” Milo Radich was saying. “It’s too risky with things the way they are. Who knows what your so-called partners are planning? They didn’t even bother to come!”

  “Mr. Mercado does not gamble,” Volkov said, sounding irritated. “And Ms. Park is busy woman. Her brother is here.”

  “That degenerate?” Milo scoffed. “He’s always here; she couldn’t keep him away if she tried. I’m telling you, Sergei, something is wrong. If you won’t cancel, you should at least leave yourself. Everything that’s been happening . . . they’re plotting against you. It was a mistake to think you can trust those people.”

  Dominic grimaced.

  “You are paranoid.”

  “And you’re too wrapped up in your boy to see what’s in front of your face! You’ve allowed yourself to be distracted by that little—”

  “Yes?” Volkov’s voice had acquired a silky, dangerous undertone. “That little what, Milo?”

  There was a drawn-out pause before Milo spoke again. “You could easily have married a woman and kept a boy on the side. It’s been done many times before. Instead, not only do you flaunt your desires, you focus them on a—”

  Dominic startled at a loud, violent thud—Volkov must have shoved Milo against the wall.

  “You live in past.” Volkov’s every word dripped with disdain. “Full of hatred for those not like yourself. No different from what I left behind in Russia.”

  “Americans have plenty of their own hatreds.” Milo’s voice was strained, and Dominic wondered if Volkov had a hand on his throat.

  “Not under my roof. My respect for our long friendship excuses many things, but this is not one of them. You speak against Rocco or my partners again, you will not enjoy my response. Ti menya ponyal?”

  “Nu ponyal.”

  At the sound of footsteps, Dominic silently backtracked to the restroom. He stayed there for a minute before returning to the main part of the warehouse, where he found Volkov near one of the game tables.

  “Ah, Mr. Greene!” Volkov slapped Dominic’s back. “I have been looking for you. Come, you play first round at my table.”

  “My pleasure,” Dominic said. He took a seat at the table, which also included Milo, Eugenia Lowell, and Rocco—playing his own hand for once, not sitting on Volkov’s lap.

  Players were settling in at the tables scattered throughout the warehouse when a guard came up to Volkov and said, “Mr. Volkov, there’s a man here who has an invitation but whose name isn’t on the list. He says Annabelle Berkshire gave him hers.”

  His expression unconcerned, Volkov said, “Did you check him for weapons?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He has money for buy-in?”

  “He . . . Well, you should see for yourself.”

  “Then send him in.”

  “Yes, sir.” As the guard walked away, he added, “I think you’ll like this one. He looks like he knows how to suck a cock.”

  “He can’t be better than your mother,” Volkov retorted without missing a beat, drawing chuckles from around the table.

  Dominic busied himself sorting and stacking his chips while he reviewed what he knew about his fellow players. Milo and Eugenia both had obvious tells and relied too heavily on specific patterns of game play; the two well-dressed men he knew only as Wesley and Spencer were already tipsy. Rocco might not know how to play poker at all beyond the basics, but Volkov . . . he could be a challenge.

  “Mr. Volkov,” said a familiar voice—a horribly, sickeningly familiar voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Dominic slowly lifted his head to look right into Levi’s eyes.

  His entire world came to a screeching, cacophonous halt. His ears rang, his stomach turned inside out, and his heart started pounding s
o hard it felt like he might break a rib.

  Fuck. Fuck. What the hell was Levi doing here? Was this really happening or was he having a stroke?

  Levi had stopped walking. His eyes flicked from Dominic to the poker table, traveled around the warehouse, and returned to Dominic’s face.

  Dominic could see realization setting in, a dozen questions being answered as Levi connected the dots. He could only hope that Levi wouldn’t do anything to give them away—

  Levi blinked once and then smiled.

  It was the coldest, most frightening smile Dominic had ever seen on Levi’s face. His skin broke out in goose bumps and his balls did an admirable job of trying to crawl inside his body.

  Volkov said, “Welcome, Mister . . .”

  “Smith,” Levi said, smoothly redirecting his attention from Dominic to Volkov. “Adam Smith.”

  Dominic stifled a groan. Adam Smith was Levi’s go-to alias, no matter how many times Dominic told him it sounded too fake.

  “I apologize for the last-minute change of plans,” Levi continued, “but Ms. Berkshire had a family emergency. She knew I was in town and passed her invitation along to me. I hope that’s all right?”

  Volkov assessed Levi from head to foot. Dominic, recovering somewhat from the mind-numbing shock of Levi’s arrival, did the same.

  Levi had a closetful of gorgeous bespoke suits that Barclay had bought him while they were together; he was wearing one of the finest now, a three-piece number in a navy blue so dark it was almost black. At his wrists glinted an expensive steel watch and diamond-and-platinum cuff links—both also gifts from Barclay, and things he hadn’t worn since he and Dominic had started dating. A handsome leather briefcase rounded out the image of tasteful, sophisticated wealth.

  “You brought enough to buy in?” Volkov asked.

  “Of course.” Levi set the briefcase in the middle of the table and opened it to dropped jaws and small gasps all around.