Certified Male

by Kristin Hardy

  She stopped and leaned against the concrete wall to look at him. “That must have been tough to give up your dream.”

  Del shrugged. “It wasn’t my dream so much as what was easy. Just like marrying Krista. Just like sportswriting. I was good in English and it seemed like a good way to take what I knew and parlay it into something.”

  “You don’t seem thrilled.”

  “I don’t know.” Seeming suddenly uncomfortable, he began walking. “I’ve just always taken the easy way out. I’d like to do something because I made it happen for a change, not because I was good at it and it fell into my lap.”

  “So, what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know, something meatier than sports, I guess. Tell stories that really matter. I think I’m ready to make a change.”

  They’d reached the other side of the dam, Gwen realized in surprise. Del leaned on the railings to look out at Lake Mead, cradled between the walls of the canyon bridged by the dam. He looked back at her. “You getting the urge to climb up on the rail and jump off here?”

  She shook her head. “Here it’d just be like jumping into a pool.”

  “That’s the difference between us, I guess. I want to dive in and you want to fly.”

  THE SUN WAS SETTING BY THE time they got back to the hotel. Del turned the car back over to the valet and they trailed into the hotel, sunburned and spent.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I thought I’d take a nice cool bath to wash off all the dust.” Gwen gave him a thoroughly naughty look as she got off the elevator. “Care to join me?”

  “I’m your man.” He followed her to her door, where she fumbled her key out of her purse. She opened the door, took two steps and stopped abruptly.

  “Oh, my god.”

  17

  THE ROOM HAD BEEN TOSSED thoroughly and by someone who didn’t much care how much of a mess they made. Del followed Gwen through the haphazardly thrown-around clothing and personal items. “Careful,” he said, catching her before she walked over broken glass. “See if anything’s missing.”

  Gwen walked through the room in a daze, picking things up and setting them down, her breath hitching unsteadily. Del swept some papers off the sofa and pulled her down to sit on it. “It’s okay,” he said softly, catching her hands between his, but they were ice-cold.

  “Someone’s been in here,” she whispered, shivering. “They’ve been through everything.”

  It was a violation, at least as much as her attack. That they’d searched Jerry’s room just days before didn’t make it easier. This didn’t have the look of a purposeful search, Del realized. It had the look of maliciousness. “Make any enemies at the tournament?”

  Gwen turned to him and it was as though they arrived at the same point at the same time. “The stamps.”

  “But why would someone break in here looking for the stamps?” she asked.

  “Maybe they knew you were at Jerry’s. Maybe they’ve noticed all the time you’ve spent with him and they figure he handed off something to you. Maybe it’s a warning.”

  For the first time she registered the torn drapes, the split pillows. “We’re going to have to report this, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t see how we can avoid it.”

  Her face paled. “I don’t want the police in on it.”

  “Why the big hush job?”

  “I don’t want them in on it,” she repeated.

  “That’ll be up to hotel security.”

  “They can’t know about the stamps. They can’t report it.” She rose and began to walk agitatedly through the mess.

  “Is anything missing?” He had to ask her three times before she could answer.

  “I can’t tell. Everything is such a mess. There wasn’t much of anything to take. My computer and jewelry are in the safe. Nothing else…” she spread out her hands.

  “You should open it just in case, but the safe doesn’t look touched.”

  It hadn’t been, near as he could tell. Perhaps whoever had tossed the room had been disturbed.

  Or perhaps they just wanted to send a message. We’re watching you.

  ONE THING WAS CERTAIN—THE head of hotel security was watching her. Tall and gaunt-cheeked, Howard Ahmanson had disillusioned-cop eyes that surveyed the world with a cynical stare. Currently he’d turned the cynical stare on her. “Know any reason someone would have broken in here? Anyone got a grudge against you? Old boyfriend? Someone you beat at the tables?”

  Gwen shook her head. “Nothing like that. Anyway, I’d hope it wouldn’t be that easy to break the locks.”

  “You trying to say it was an inside job?”

  “Not at all. I have no idea what kind of job it is. I just know I haven’t made any enemies and I don’t have any jilted lovers running around.”

  “And nothing’s missing, you say.”

  “The only valuables I had were in the safe, and that held.”

  “Whoever got into your room was a pro. We could call the cops and get them to look for prints, but the perp probably used gloves. Anyway, if nothing’s missing, the only thing you could charge them with would be destruction of property.”

  Gwen sat on the couch and massaged her temples. “Do I have to file a report to get the property damage waived?”

  “Eventually. Not tonight, though. You can change rooms when you’re ready. Just go down to the front desk.”

  She nodded.

  “You know,” he said casually, “seems funny that someone would go to that much trouble to make a mess in the place of someone who doesn’t have an enemy in the world. Looks to me like someone’s maybe trying to tell you something.” He gave her a long look, then walked to the door. Just before he reached it, he turned. “You think of anyone or change your mind, you let me know, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And put on the dead bolt when you’re in here.”

  The door closed behind Ahmanson. Del walked back toward Gwen. “He’s right, you know, you should file a police report. You should call the cops, period, blow the whistle on things.”

  “No,” she said abruptly. She huddled on the couch, the shakes just starting. “I can’t.”

  “Gwen, we don’t know what’s going on here. Someone tried to hurt you four days ago—”

  “You don’t know that that was connected,” she said hotly.

  “And you don’t know that it wasn’t. And now we come back and find your room torn apart. Nothing’s gone but everything’s a mess and it looks a whole lot like it might be connected to Jerry and to the guy that grabbed you the other night.”

  The shakes got stronger. “I can’t get the police involved.”

  “You’ve got hundreds of dollars in damage to the furnishings here. Unless you win the poker tournament, you’re going to damned well have to.”

  “It’s my problem, Del.” Nina wouldn’t be shaking. Nina wouldn’t be on the edge of tears. She’d take it in the gut, hold up her head and go on. Gwen took a breath.

  “God, you’re doing it again,” he said disgustedly.

  “What?”

  “Channeling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know when it’s going on? One minute you’re you and then the screens go down and someone else is looking out of your eyes. All of a sudden you’re being Nina.”

  He saw a whole lot more than she’d given him credit for. A whole lot more than she wanted him to. “What’s wrong with Nina?”

  “She’s not real. She’s not a person, she’s just a construct, someone you use to give yourself guts. Well you’ve got guts already, so why don’t you have the guts to be yourself?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be just Gwen. Maybe I like being Nina.”

  “Well, being Nina has you taking stupid chances, thinking you’re some sort of superwoman who can go up against the bad guys. Maybe you can’t, and being Nina is just going to get you into a dangerous situation you can’t get
out of. You’ve got this thing about being Nina and it’s going to get you into some very bad trouble if you don’t watch out.”

  “What about you? Who were you talking with that first night at the blackjack table, anyway? If I’d been Gwen, I’d never have come up to you and you’d never have given me the time of day. You probably still wouldn’t. I might be Gwen inside, but I’m Nina on the outside and Nina’s your golden-girl fantasy. So don’t go lecturing me, Del,” she snapped and turned to the windows. She pressed her forehead to the glass, feeling the warmth left over from the Las Vegas day.

  Outside the sun had set in the time between their discovery of the room and meeting with security. Lights glittered and flashed in the dusk. People flocked down the Strip to the casinos. Life went on as usual.

  Del walked over to her, watching her shoulders, knowing the strength that was in them, seeing the fragility. “Look, I don’t always say the right thing. You’d think I would. I work with words for a living. Sometimes, though, when I’m angry or scared, it comes out wrong. And I’m scared for you right now and angry that someone’s doing this to you. So I screwed up and I’m sorry.”

  Gwen raised her head and turned to look at him.

  “The thing is, I don’t think I’m wrong,” he continued. “I think you’re taking some risks with an unknown quantity. I think you think you can carry it off, and it worries me that something might happen to you.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think Jerry tossed your room. This is bigger than him. You’ve got to bring in the cops.”

  Gwen was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke. “I told you my grandfather’s in the process of retiring. I didn’t tell you everything. You figured out my grandfather owns the stamp store, the one Jerry stole from. Jerry didn’t just take stamps from the store inventory, though. He stole the best of the stamps that my grandfather is depending on for his retirement.”

  “Your grandfather doesn’t know?”

  Gwen shook her head, walking over to sink down on the bed. “If I’d told him, he’d come back home the next day and he’s in less of a position to get them back than I am.”

  “Insurance?”

  She shook her head and laid back, staring at the ceiling. “He was planning to start selling them over the next two years. Four and a half million out the door and into Jerry’s pocket.”

  It was still hard to accept that little chips of paper could be worth so much. A testament to human acquisitiveness, Del supposed, or to obsession. He sank down on the bed beside her and gathered her against him, kissing her hair and saying nothing.

  “There’s more to it than just the money, though. It would still leave him with a million or so in holdings, but he’s an investment philatelist.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He advises people on investment stamps. And because of the way his contracts with them are written, word getting out about the stamp theft could take everything that’s left.” She turned to face him. “I can’t bail on this, even if someone’s trying to intimidate me. Even if they’re watching me. I don’t care who they are, I’ve got to find a way to get those stamps back from Jerry without word getting out.”

  Del brushed a hand over her hair and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You will. We’ll do it together.”

  But long after her eyes had closed, he lay staring at the ceiling.

  18

  DEL STOOD AT HIS WINDOW, looking out at the Strip, wishing he could do anything but make the call he was about to make. Then again, unpleasant things were best done quickly, he thought and punched the numbers on his cell phone.

  “Jessup.”

  “Greg, it’s Del Redmond here.”

  “How’s that story going, Redmond?”

  “That’s why I’m calling.” He was calling because it was, quite simply, the right thing to do. “The story’s evaporated.”

  “Evaporated?”

  “It’s not as big a story as I anticipated.”

  “Four and a half million in rare stamps isn’t a story? What, did they show up? Did the owners miss seeing them the first time around?” The sarcasm was ripe in Jessup’s voice.

  “No,” Del said evenly. “The more I investigated, the more it became clear that it’s not a straightforward, clean story.”

  “Those are usually the best kind.”

  “Not this one. It’s not going to come together and it’s not going to be timely.” That was always the card to play with a newshound. Late was as good as never as far as a good editor was concerned.

  “Doesn’t help us much, does it?”

  “Would you rather I turned in twenty column inches of useless crap?” Del countered.

  Jessup gave a bark of laughter. “Balls, Redmond. I like that in a reporter. All these kids that I’m interviewing are afraid to stand up for themselves. Don’t want to take a chance on irritating me.”

  “I’ve already got a job, Jessup. I was thinking I’d like a chance to work news for you, but I might be revising that opinion.”

  Jessup snorted. “I might be revising my opinion, too. That story would have helped you, you know that?”

  “Only if it were solid. If I’d sent you twenty column inches that stank to high heaven, I don’t think it would have done a whole hell of a lot for my case.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And by the way, you can tell your little terrier Kellar to back off.”

  “Kellar?”

  “Yeah. Calls himself your stringer? He hunted me down the other day.”

  “Oh, right. I thought he might be able to help you with some local contacts.”

  “Well, be sure to tell him the story’s been spiked. I don’t want him nosing around anymore.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was a short silence. “You seem awfully anxious to have this story killed, Redmond.”

  “That’s because it’s the right thing to do.” Del’s fingers clenched the phone just a bit tighter.

  “Well, I suppose I have to trust the instincts of my reporters.”

  “I’m not your reporter,” Del reminded him.

  “Well, you’re still in the pool, anyway. I’m interviewing through the end of next week. You come up with anything I can use out there, send it along. If not, well, we’ll be in touch.”

  THERE WAS SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY intoxicating about winning, Gwen thought as she grinned into the mirror over the sink in the ladies’ room halfway through the day’s play. Every two hours the tournament ran, they got fifteen minutes to stand up, move around and take a break. She dried her hands and looked over to where Roxy was slicking on a new layer of lipstick.

  “You doing all right?” Gwen asked.

  “Sweetie, I am doing fabulously. They’re all like soft little bunnies and I’m the saber-toothed tiger.”

  “Now there’s an image.”

  “I caught the guy in the number seven seat at my table staring at my knockers.”

  “Nice,” Gwen said with a grimace.

  “Hell, I don’t care. If he’s busy looking at my chest, he’s not thinking about poker.”

  “On the other hand, it’s going to be harder to pick out a bluff if the vein beating on the side of his head is throbbing for another reason.”

  “Nope, the vein that’s throbbing because of that is a whole lot lower.” She winked. “So, where are you at?”

  “In a really weird spot. I feel like I can see what they’ve got and I know which way to push them. The cards just keep falling my way.”

  “Sounds like you’re in the zone.”

  “I hope so.” Gwen walked toward the door.

  “So, are we going to go out and celebrate after?” Roxy followed her out into the lobby area where drinks and snacks were laid out. “What about going over to the vodka bar at Mandalay Bay?”

  “Forget that. I’m having a party for all the winners up at my suite.” It was Jerry coming up behind them to hang his arms over their shoulders.

  Roxy made a face and did a little sidestep to get out from
under him. “Watch out,” she suggested, “or you might be missing a hand for the last go-round.”

  Gwen moved aside.

  “Oh, come on, guys, it’s going to be party time.”

  “We have to make the cut first,” Gwen reminded him.

  He snorted. “We all know it’s just a matter of time.”

  “For someone,” Roxy said.

  “Hey, you gonna come or not?”

  “We all win, sure, we’ll stop by for a drink,” Gwen said. “Won’t we, Roxy?”

  Roxy looked at her as if she’d lost her mind but gave a grudging nod. “Sure, for starters.” The bell rang to summon them back to the tables. “Right now, though, we’d better go in and finish the job.”

  FORGET ABOUT LIQUOR—THE PURE, hard rush of making the cut beat it all. The field had been narrowed. Only a total of thirty-six players had survived round two, each of whom would walk away with at least eighteen thousand dollars. Those who stayed in longer, well, the sky was the limit—or as much of it as you could buy with two million.

  Roxy came up and hooked an arm over her shoulders. “We’re in the money,” she singsonged. “Let’s go get your main squeeze and a man for me and celebrate.” She whooped and gave a little shimmy.

  “The party, remember?”

  Roxy made a face. “And we have to do that why?”

  “You don’t have to do it, but I do.”

  “He’s an idiot,” she said with a frown. “He was at my table the last part of the night and I had to put up with his poker-brat routine. What do you want to hang around with him for?”

  “Hang around with who?” Del came up behind them.

  “Jerry’s having a party,” Gwen explained. “I figured we could stop by and have a drink.”

  “Oh, if Jerry’s buying, I think the least we can do is stop by,” he said. “But first I need to do some congratulating. To you.” He leaned over to give Roxy a hug. “And to you.” He gathered Gwen against him and pressed his mouth on hers, hard.