Deadly Odds

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Gentlemen,” Ross said, setting the tablet he’d brought in with him on the table, “how we doing?”

  Don waved one hand. “Our friend here isn’t talking. Won’t even give me a name.”

  They’d see about that.

  Their guest, a guy in his thirties, wore a light blue dress shirt. His dark hair was cut short and gelled back and his wire rimmed glasses gave him a studious appearance. The entire look screamed polished businessman.

  Ross slid one of the metal framed chairs away from the table, it’s legs scraping against the tiled floor. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat. “Things could change in the next few minutes.”

  The guy flicked a glance at Ross then Don.

  “Now we’re talking,” Don said, “whatcha got, kid?”

  Ross gestured to the tablet on the table. “What I have is video. Lots of it.”

  “Bullshit,” the guy said.

  Excellent. One thing Ross loved was calling a bluff. He scooped up the tablet, brought up the videos the surveillance team had looped together and hit play.

  “Take a look. We’ve built a timeline of your activities over the last three days.”

  “So?”

  Ross sat forward, tapped his fingers on the table. “You’ve been busy. Watch that video until you get to about 5:36.” He pointed at Don. “You might want to see this.”

  Don pushed off the wall, wandered over. “What is it?”

  “Seems our friend here met with someone in the casino lounge on Monday.”

  The guy flicked another glance at Ross and he held up his hand. “Before you say anything, let me add that one of the members of our security team has experienced a couple of disturbing incidents. The first being someone breaking into her room. The second? That one really creates a problem for you.”

  The guy shrugged. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Good. Because you’ll need it.”

  “5:36,” Don said.

  “Keep watching. A man will walk into the lounge and sit at a table with our friend here. That man will have a large, hooked nose.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Ross said, “you need to think about this. Hard. Think about your friend and the type of guy he might be.”

  Ross couldn’t say it. Not when it involved the murder of a federal agent. And possibly the attack on Kate, but this dumbass needed to know the shit was about to hit the proverbial fan.

  And he was about to get sprayed.

  As soon as the FBI saw the video of these two men meeting, this thing would go from cheating at a casino to murder.

  The suspected cheat shifted in his chair. Atta, boy. Ross scraped his chair back, stood, adjusted his sleeves and rebuttoned his jacket. “I’ll leave you to think about it. Mr. Sickler will stay here in case you want to tell us what you’ve been up to in our casino. You’re cooked. It’s just a matter of how cooked. Someone from the Gaming Commission is on the way. Based on this video alone, they can hold you while they investigate your buddy with the hook nose.”

  He nodded at Don and turned toward the door.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ross sat again, leaned forward on his elbows while Don pulled one of the unoccupied chairs out and slightly back from the table and planted himself.

  In the last three seconds, the energy in the room had swelled from a reserved calm to an electric crackling. A live wire about to ignite.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ryan. Ryan Breslin.”

  “Okay, Ryan Breslin,” Don said, “who the hell is Dillon Reegs?”

  “He’s in on it. Him and the old lady.”

  Don met Ross’s gaze, his eyes bulging. Ross wasn’t one for dramatics, but damn if his heart didn’t sink. If the old lady was Mrs. Miller, well, that would be the capper to a truly suck-filled week.

  “What old lady?”

  “Kent Miller’s mom.”

  Yep, there went his heart. Right to his damned toes. “Mrs. Miller is in on whatever con your running?”

  “Oh, hey, I’m not running it. I’m just the relay guy. I stand there and wait for Reegs and the old lady to signal which cards the dealer flips. Then I relay the order to the kid on the other end of my radio.”

  “What kid?”

  “No idea. He’s in the hotel somewhere. In a room I think. He loads the order of the cards into a spreadsheet so we know which cards’ll come up on the next round. Then he reads the order back to me and I signal Reegs and the old lady what to bet.”

  Ross almost laughed. With all their high-end technology, they hadn’t caught that. “But you needed the dealer?”

  “Well, yeah. He’s gotta keep the order of the cards.”

  Thus, the false shuffle that Karl Epstein provided. Ross tapped two fingers on the table, all that nervous tension begging to be unleashed. “How is Mrs. Miller in on this?”

  “Dude, her son runs this gig. He hired all of us. And he’s making her do it. He abuses the crap out of her. And he’s her only kid. She just puts up with it. She’s afraid of him or something, I guess. He’s running crews all over Vegas. Shit, he’s got crews all across the country. Guy’s raking it in scamming casinos, buying off dealers. Whatever it takes. And that asshole with the big nose? I’m not going down for him. He’s straight up nuts. I told Miller that. From the beginning this Fortuna operation has been fucked. And after they took out that Dominion dealer? Nuh-uh. I didn’t sign up for that. I told Miller I wanted out. All I wanted was some extra gambling money. This shit? Crazy.”

  Wait. What? Ross sat stock still, every muscle frozen. “What happened with the Dominion dealer?”

  “The one that died. Crazy-assed Digger—that’s the hooked nose guy—found out he was talking to the cops. The feds actually. Miller panicked, so Digger took care of it.”

  “He killed him,” Don said. “Because he snitched.”

  Breslin shrugged.

  Shrugged. As if a man being murdered was no more important than a failed shopping trip. Ross would have liked to reach across the table and wrap his hand around this guy’s throat. Just squeeze until his eyes popped. Let him feel what Dale Cousins felt.

  But…crap.

  Ross ticked back to Kate in the hospital, back to her conversation with John about her murdered co-worker. About the photos of the hooked nose Digger walking away from her friend’s crime scene. All at once, the synapse in his brain clicked, the connections materializing.

  Jesus. He needed to find Kate. And call the FBI. Right fucking now. He stood, pointed at Don. “Stay here with him. Gaming should be here any second.”

  “Where you going?”

  Damned if he’d say it in front of their guest. Not a chance. “I’ll be back.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Miller switched tables.

  “Dammit,” Kate said from her seat in the surveillance room.

  Could they not get one small break? Just have that woman sit there until Ross and Don sorted out whatever was going on with the other man they’d corralled.

  Instead, Mrs. Miller cashed out, scooped up her chips and left the table.

  From two seats down, Wally scooted his chair over. “What’s up?”

  “She’s leaving the table. If she heads to the cage, let’s put the brakes on paying her. Has anyone heard from Ross or Don?”

  A chorus of nos followed as Kate watched Mrs. Miller on the live feed. She bypassed the cashier’s cage—thank you—and went straight to the elevator bank.

  “She didn’t cash in her chips,” Kate muttered.

  Why, why, why?

  Maybe because she knew they wouldn’t let her. If the woman were indeed signaling to the man Ross and Don were questioning, by now, she’d realize, even if she didn’t know where her partner had gone, that their plan had suffered an interruption.

  Kate hopped up and grabbed a radio from the charging station. “She might be going to her room. Wally, pull up the elevator cameras and radio me w
hat floor she gets off on.”

  One of the techs raised his hand to signal. “She’s in room 936. Just checked.”

  “Thank you. I’m going up.”

  “You want security?”

  “No. They might spook her. Let’s see what she does.”

  On her way to the staff elevator, Kate shot off a text to Ross.

  SHE’S ON THE MOVE. GOT ON ELEVATOR. I’M GOING UP TO NINE TO CHK IT OUT.

  The elevator door swung closed and the radio squawked. She hit the button. “This is Kate.”

  “She’s off at nine,” Wally said. “Heading the direction of her room.”

  “On it. Be there in one minute.”

  What was this woman up to?

  On nine, Kate peeped around the open elevator doors to the empty and silent hallway.

  Kate checked her phone. Nothing from Ross.

  Terrific. What now?

  She lowered the volume on the two-way and lifted it to her mouth. “Is she in her room?”

  “Yes. Just went in. You want security?”

  “Not yet. As long as we know where she is, she’s not going anywhere. I’ll wait up here for Ross. See what he wants to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Clipping the radio to her waistband, she looked left then right. Nothing. Wouldn’t hurt to get a little closer. Do a little harmless eavesdropping.

  She headed down the hallway, the thick carpet absorbing her footfalls. As she neared the room, she slowed, even stopping beside the door, out of the view of the peephole, and listened.

  Silence.

  The elevator dinged and Kate pushed off the wall, kept walking, away from the elevator, peering up at the room numbers. Just a random person hunting for a particular room. At least to anyone else that’s who’d she’d be.

  Seconds later, someone knocked on a door.

  “Mother, open up.”

  Mother?

  She’d never heard Mr. Miller’s voice, but judging on the distance, the man would be in the area of Mrs. Miller’s room.

  At the end of the corridor, Kate turned left, huddled at the edge of the wall and peeped back.

  A tall man with gray hair stood at Mrs. Miller’s door. The door opened and he entered, closing the door behind him.

  Go.

  Kate ran back, huddling between rooms 936 and 937.

  “Get packed,” the man barked from inside the room. “Now. We’re going.”

  Packing. If they left the hotel, things would get a whole lot more complicated.

  Kate shot off another text to Ross, stowed her phone and grabbed her radio. “Wally, they’re packing to leave. Send security up here.”

  The door behind her, the one to room 937, flew open and Kate swiveled her head.

  Mr. Miller stepped out, duffle bag in hand.

  Adjoining rooms.

  For a split second he stared at Kate, his eyes a little stunned by the woman lingering outside his room. “What are you…?”

  And then—bam—his features hardened and the energy flying off him set her back a full step.

  “You’re that security ace. You won’t go away.”

  They locked eyes for a second, Mr. Miller’s lips pressed tight and…he lunged.

  Kate reared back. Radio still in hand, she swung out. Whoosh. He ducked.

  Off balance, she swayed and he shoved her back a step. Cocked his fist and—boom!—blasted her. Pain ripped through her cheekbone and the hallway tilted, her already battered brain giving up the fight.

  She reached out, set one hand on the wall, bracing against it. Her stomach flipped and she breathed in, focused on one of the doors to steady herself.

  But her head spun and spun and spun, and everything tipped sideways.

  If she could focus, maybe get her balance, she’d probably be able to drop him. A chop to the throat. Yes.

  She raised her hand, blinked and watched Mr. Miller’s head double. Which one? She blinked again.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  The door to 936 came open, but he lunged again. His arms flung out, grabbing Kate up in a bear hug.

  From behind her, Mrs. Miller gasped. “Kent, what on earth?”

  “Shut up, Mother.”

  Still clamped on, he dragged her backward, toward the doorway.

  No.

  If he got her inside that room, she might not come out.

  She kicked back, connected with bone. Shin probably.

  Still, he hung on.

  He angled left, his bigger body outmuscling her and forcing her forward, another step closer to the room where a fuzzy looking Mrs. Miller, stood in the doorway.

  Kate focused on her. All three of her. “Don’t let him do this.”

  “Shut up.” Mr. Miller released her and a fierce blow from behind, a body slam, propelled her into the room.

  “Close that door, Mother. Before someone sees us.”

  * * *

  Ross hauled ass through the stairwell door, his breaths coming hard after he’d run up five flights. Just his damned luck to get a commuter elevator packed with staff members that stopped on every floor.

  While on the elevator, he’d texted Kate twice and hadn’t gotten a response. Could be nothing.

  Still…

  He tore around the corner of the hallway, dodged a guy just entering his room.

  “Dude!” the guy said. “Slow down.”

  “Sorry.” Ross cruised by him knowing room 936, Mrs. Miller’s room, was just yards away.

  Almost there.

  “Sit down,” a man hollered from inside one of the suites.

  Not 936.

  Ross flinched, stopped running as panic roared at him.

  Kate, Kate, Kate.

  Where was she?

  He checked his phone again. Nothing.

  “Don’t be stupid,” a woman said from inside 937.

  Kate’s voice. In 937. Mr. Miller’s room.

  Shit.

  “You need to stop this,” Kate said, her voice level. Reasonable. “Security is on the way.”

  “Because of you, you stupid bitch. Now sit down!”

  Miller.

  Weapon. He needed one. Ross surveyed the area looking for anything. A room service tray, a glass, anything, he could use to distract Miller.

  Nothing. Good old efficient Fortuna housekeepers.

  Screw it. He dug his master key out, swiped it against the lock pad and winced when it beeped. Unlocked.

  But the definite lack of weapon gave him few options. He’d do it his way.

  Schmoozing.

  He pushed open the door, stepped in and held his hands up. Kate stood in the middle of the room, facing Mr. Miller.

  Miller spun sideways, arm raised.

  Gun.

  That gun? Aimed right at him. Kate moved, just half a step, but Miller swung toward her, his head swiveling between them.

  “Kate,” Ross said, “for God’s sake, stay still.”

  Behind Miller, his mother sat on the small sofa, hands gripping the cushion while she wept softly.

  She met Ross’s gaze, stared at him for a long few seconds. “I’m so sorry.”

  And he believed her. Whatever went on between her and her son was nothing good.

  Still holding his hands up, Ross took another step. “It’s okay.”

  “No,” Kate said. “Get out of here.”

  “Mr. Miller and I have known each other a long time.”

  “Get out,” Miller said.

  Not a chance. “Can’t do that.”

  Miller gripped the gun, tightening his fingers around it. A sheen of sweat bubbled on his forehead, the overhead light making the moisture glisten.

  “Get. Out,” he said.

  “Put down the gun. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

  He jerked the gun, stabbing it in the air while his finger rested on the trigger and Ross could see it, his composure loosening, tearing away.

  “Everything was good,” he said. “Nobody needed to get hurt.”

  “You�
�re right,” Ross said. “We’re not gonna talk about that now. Just put down the gun.”

  Miller shifted his eyes to Kate and Ross took a step closer.

  “Stop!”

  Busted.

  Again, Ross put up his hands. “Sorry. I’ll stand right here, but look, we’ve been friends a while, right? I’ve always taken care of you. Always played it straight. When you wanted something, I got it for you. I’ll do that now. I’ll help you. Just put down that gun.”

  “Kent,” Mrs. Miller said. “Please.”

  “Shut up!”

  Ross glanced at her, patted one hand in the air, silently asking her to butt the hell out.

  She sat back and her son glanced at Kate, then to Ross. His eyes had a look to them. Focused yet fuzzy.

  Coming apart.

  Desperate.

  “Kent,” Ross said, his voice more stern, “if we all walk out of here, I can help you. Trust me on that.”

  His shoulders dipped, just a half inch and the gun wobbled, his hand trembling just enough to be dangerous.

  Kate leaped in the air, diving, and Ross charged, both of them heading straight for Miller. Kate landed first, blasting him from behind, knocking him forward as she lost her footing and stumbled. Ross kept his eyes on that gun.

  Boom.

  Mrs. Miller screamed and a whizzing noise cruised by Ross’s right ear and his heart damn near exploded, the blood rush so intense it blurred his vision.

  He reached Miller in two steps, grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, the slide with the other, twisting hard. The gun, along with Miller’s finger jerked sideways and with any luck that digit was broken.

  Miller howled, loosened his grip on the gun, but drove his body into Ross, knocking the weapon free. It fell to the floor and Ross kicked it. Sent it sailing a few feet.

  Then he went to work. Pounding on Miller, a punch to the gut, the cheek, the gut again.

  “Ooff.”

  “No!” Mrs. Miller shouted. “Please! No!”

  Miller’s body flew backward, his arms windmilling. A side table broke his momentum. He went over, taking the lamp with him and it shattered against one of the table legs. Shards of glass flew, covering the carpet like tiny ice picks.

  Blood spurted from Miller’s nose, dripped down the side of his face and he leaped up, swung wildly, his fist connecting with Ross’s shoulder, but bouncing off.