High Stakes: A Texas Heat Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  Peter was the one to end it, pulling his hand away forcefully and giving Chance a murderous look. He ignored it and made his way to the table.

  Chance quickly reviewed the brief bit of information he’d learned as he had looked each man in the eye while shaking their hands.

  Both men were hiding something.

  The game was Texas Hold’em, which was fitting. Texas Hold’em made it that much harder to read people’s tells, since so much was dependent on what lay face up on the table before them. The first cards placed there, face up, were called the flop. From there, after a round of betting, another card was placed face up during the turn. The river finalized the play with the fifth card joining the other four. Those were the cards that each player could use to fill out their hand in the best way possible.

  Each player only got two cards—the hole—to play with. Often in other games, Chance could figure out what was in a man’s hand simply by the way he shuffled or fiddled with his cards. The two lying face down before each opponent made that a near impossibility.

  This meant every man at the table had to rely on bluffing…or luck.

  32

  “What did I tell ya?” Jacob said beaming at Juliet as she finished off the last of her pastrami sandwich.

  “I can’t even believe I was able to eat anything at all,” she replied, licking his special mustard off her fingers. “Honestly, my stomach is in knots.”

  “Like I told Chance, you’re fine here with me. Then when this game is over you can return to your normal life, as you put it,” he said with one eyebrow raised making it seem like more of a question than a statement.

  “Is that so terrible?”

  “Not at all, especially for someone like you who isn’t used to all of this. There’s something to be said for normal and boring.”

  Juliet didn’t think it was fair to equate normal with boring, but she left it alone. She was a guest in his house after all. Being here with someone she didn’t know all that well was awkward at first, but Jacob had a disarming personality and soon had her at ease, or at least as at ease as she could be under the circumstances.

  “Okay, young lady,” Jacob said, rubbing his hands together. “We aren’t going to have you sitting here worrying. You head out to the living room. I’m going to rinse up these dishes.”

  “Nonsense. I should be the one doing the dishes, especially since you—”

  “You are a guest in my house. That means you relax and I do the dishes. No more discussion. Go, young lady.”

  He reminded her of her dad when he wanted his way. It made her feel even more at ease. Perhaps not everyone involved in organized crime was so horrible. Juliet still wasn’t quite sure what Jacob’s actually involvement was, but he seemed harmless enough.

  She at least helped him carry her own plate and glass back to the kitchen before he shooed her out. She left with a laugh and went back to the living room.

  From the outside, the house looked nice but wasn’t anything special; a standard upper-middle class affair. The inside was amazing. It had obviously been professionally decorated in such a way that money had been no object. Juliet mulled that one over in her head and could figure out a few reasons why someone with so many ties to illegal activities would want to hide any overt public signs of wealth.

  Juliet felt a gurgle of laughter boil in her stomach. Here she was being “protected” from the Bratva in the house of…she wasn’t exactly sure how to label Jacob. All because she had met a man in a museum.

  She wandered around the living room with its oriental rugs and custom built-in bookcases tastefully filled with books and art and other prized objects. Her eye was caught by something in particular and she came in closer to inspect it. Her eyes grew wide.

  Oh my God!

  “That’s the very one,” she heard Jacob’s voice say behind her.

  Juliet nearly jumped out of her skin and spun around to see him smiling at her from the entryway into the living room.

  “Carter Fox’s first home run ball with the Sluggers,” he said, coming in to stand next to her. “Are you a fan?”

  “Of baseball? Oh yeah. Of the Sluggers? Definitely yeah.”

  Jacob just laughed in a jovial way, which seemed to be his trademark. “Go ahead and have a closer look.”

  It was in a sturdy clear case with a bottom that looked like it was made of marble. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested.

  “Nonsense,” he said, lifting it up himself to hand it to her. “I’m not one of those old fuddy duddies who doesn’t want people touching his things. The whole point of owning it is to have people admire it.”

  Juliet laughed and accepted the case from him. “Whoa, it’s heavy.”

  “Well, if someone is going to steal it, I certainly can’t make it too easy for them, no?”

  It felt about the same weight as a sack of flour in her hands, but was half the size. She hefted it up and down in her hands.

  “Come, let’s have some of that vodka I mentioned earlier,” he said guiding her to one of the couches.

  Juliet followed him, still inspecting the ball inside the case. She set it down on the coffee table before them as Jacob brought a bottle and two glasses back from the bar. The heavy rain created an almost cozy soundtrack in combination with the warmth of the tastefully decorated room.

  “Here now, this should help untie all those knots in your stomach,” he said handing her a glass that probably had a bit more vodka in it than it should have had. Juliet took a sip and let the liquor mellow her out.

  “You know, Chance isn’t a bad man. This business, it’s not him. Me, on the other hand,” he gave a self-effacing shrug. “But Chance is strictly poker. You should maybe think about giving him another shot when this is all over.”

  Juliet let that one simmer as she took another sip. To be honest, she couldn’t stop thinking about Chance at that game. Yes, they were by all accounts over, but no one completely got over someone they had developed such a deep connection with, even if it had been brief…even if it had gone down in flames. Especially since 99.9% of it had been absolutely perfect.

  Every time she hated herself for her silly outburst, wanting to take it all back, she reminded herself of where she was sitting right now. No, it had been for the best, especially if things went awry at that game and Chance had a target on his back. No sense in putting herself in the crosshairs as well.

  All the same, she certainly didn’t want him getting killed.

  “Maybe not all the love is lost?”

  Juliet’s mind snapped back to reality and she blinked up at Jacob, realizing that she had given all her thoughts away. She recovered, giving him a guilty shrug.

  “I know he despises me, and I have a feeling Katherine wouldn’t mind ripping my throat out after what I said to him.”

  “She just loves her boys is all, like all mothers. Still, I understand your concerns. Someone involving you like that first with the pink bear and that note, then those photos. Whoever it was who sent them certainly knew which buttons to push.”

  “Yeah,” Juliet said. “I still don’t even understand what it all means. I just hope he wins this thing and I can as you said, go back to being boring and normal.”

  Jacob gave her a critical eye then laughed. “My dear, I have a feeling you are anything but boring.”

  Juliet gave an appreciative laugh as she brought her glass up for another sip. It was starting to relax her already, which was a good thing. Perhaps the next few hours wouldn’t be all that terrible.

  Her mind stopped cold, just like the rim of the glass that was pressed against her lips. Her brain worked like one of those flip-books with the pages flying by, creating an animated picture. It stopped all of a sudden, landing on a single page that revealed exactly what was going on. The blast of lightning and immediate crack of thunder outside, hit at the same time the realization hit her.

  That’s the very moment that she knew her life was in danger.

  33

  Chan
ce was used to playing the game to win. That made this game no different than any other.

  But he’d never faced stakes that were so high.

  The thunderstorm outside was still going strong, providing an even more ominous feel.

  So far, other than the fact that every man at the table with a set of cards in his hand wanted to kill the other two, the game had been unremarkable. Chance had lost more rounds than he’d won, focusing on figuring out each man’s tell.

  He had actually played with Leo once or twice before, so he already knew that the man played wearing sunglasses, mostly because people had a habit of focusing on his freakish eyes which probably threw him off his game. One of his tells was wiping them furiously with a handkerchief in his pants pocket.

  Peter was harder to read, but eventually Chance saw it. It took five rounds before he got his first glimpse: a slight lowering of his eyelids as if to hide the excitement of a good match with the cards face-up before them.

  They were on another round. Peter was ahead, followed by Chance, then Leo.

  “How is Chip, by the way?” Leo asked, finally breaking the silence.

  His inquiry was perfectly timed. The two Hole cards had just been dealt to each of them and the dealer had just dealt the flop, the three face-up cards each player would use to join what they had to create the best possible hand.

  Instead of debating which of his cards to use—a Queen of hearts and a 2 of spades—Chance was now thinking about Chip. On the table before him was a 7 of clubs, Queen of diamonds, and 2 of clubs. Chance twisted his ring on his finger before answering.

  “It’s awfully nice of you to have such consideration for someone you were apparently in fear of your life from. That is why you shot him, right?” Chance said, looking at him hard.

  He couldn’t see his eyes behind those glasses, but he could see the slight hardening of Leo’s chin.

  Peter just chuckled under his breath on the other side of the table, shaking his head. “You two are like a couple of boys in the school yard. I thought I was playing with men.”

  “I suppose, if being a man means getting another man to do your dirty work for you. At least Leo here had the balls to do it himself and admit what he’d done instead of hiding behind some poor schlub like a coward.”

  He knew he was poking a stick at a very big, very dangerous dog. Peter kept his face straight right through it all—kudos to him—but it didn’t matter.

  Chase already knew one thing: if he won this game, he was a dead man.

  34

  Your tell is in your mouth.

  Chance’s words came back to her. Juliet held the glass tighter to her lips to keep them from moving while she figured out what to do. She weighed her options, determining which had the strongest possibility of success.

  Two. Three. Five.

  There was no way he could have known the bear was pink or that there was a note. Back at their breakfast meeting he’d seemed surprised to even hear about a bear.

  Counting prime numbers had the added benefit of keeping her mind from going into a tailspin. She needed to take a sip before Jacob noticed her sudden paralysis. She took her sip and let the vodka slide down her throat cool and easy the way vodka was supposed to flow.

  Her insides were anything but cool and easy. In fact, they were a boiling cauldron of turmoil just waiting to erupt.

  Seven. Eleven. Thirteen.

  Jacob was still rambling on about something. She should probably say something, even if it was just noncommittal “hmms.” She turned to face him with an interested smile.

  Seventeen. Nineteen….

  He stared at her just a beat too long. Then he gave a soft chuckle.

  “It was the bear wasn’t it?”

  The numbers vanished from her head.

  Funnily enough, she now had a completely blank slate up there, as if the frenzied mass of information being run through her brain had finally caused it to crash and reboot.

  “Which one of them are you working for?” she asked calmly.

  “Does it matter?” he said with a smile that was almost sympathetic.

  “They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?”

  “One or both, most likely.”

  “And me?”

  “It depends on how he behaves out there. I just stepped in to keep an eye on you in the meantime.”

  She took that as a yes.

  Jacob gave a soft chuckle. “I should say, I was almost convinced by your little act in the restaurant. You two—”

  The splash of vodka in his face finished his sentence for him.

  35

  This was the tricky part.

  Usually by this point in a game every player involved could see which way the wind was blowing. Although Chance didn’t believe in luck, there was definitely something to be said for bad mojo, and a disproportionate number of poker players bought into it. Nothing fucks up your game like feeling you’ve been cursed.

  On the other hand, a winning streak could have the opposite effect. It could make a player bolder than he normally would be, and more often than not it played out. After all, bluffing was an integral part of the game.

  Right now, the players on either side of Chance were on opposite ends of that spectrum. Leo was losing hard and fast. Those glasses of his were getting wiped more furiously than ever.

  Peter was cool as a polar bear’s toenail. He was ahead of Chance by quite a bit.

  That was fine. Let the man think he actually had control of the situation. Keep him nice and calm and, most importantly, completely unaware of the card that Chance had up his sleeve. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

  Chance had done what he needed to do to win this game. Now it was time to put it into action before either Leo or Peter, both starting to get too heavily invested in their respective streaks, did something stupid.

  That’s when Peter threw him for a loop.

  “So what did you think of that picture of the McCoys at Coney Island, Leo?” he asked, looking over at Leo with those dark, soulless eyes.

  Both Leo and Chance looked up at Peter in surprise. Even though Leo had on those sunglasses, Chance could practically see his eyes narrowing, as if wondering where Peter was going with this.

  “Chance’s mother, she has nice legs no?”

  Leo was smart enough not to respond. Chance was smart enough to keep his poker face on.

  “Everyone used to go on and on about those legs. Once upon a time those legs were wrapped around my waist, sometimes thrown over my shoulders.”

  So it was Chance he was trying to bait. Most people wouldn’t have noticed how Leo’s shoulders ever so slightly relaxed, or how Chance’s ever so slightly tensed.

  But the question still remained: how did he know Leo had even seen the photo?

  “I raise,” Chance said, pretending to ignore Peter as he added his chips to the pot.

  Peter just continued on. “I have to say I was almost sorry to give that photo up. Holding onto it was a personal point of pride. Alas, my guy needed proof to hand over to you, so I parted with it.”

  “What?” Leo said, stupidly playing into Peter’s hands.

  Shut the hell up, for fuck’s sake.

  Chance willed Leo to settle down and collect himself. The more addled Leo was, the more likely he was to do something rash. It was his turn at play, but the game was officially on hold thanks to this little detour.

  Chance himself was surprised. The way Chip had put it, Leo was the one who had sought out the guy who had the photo and ring.

  Peter raised his eyebrows and Chance saw the hint of a smile whisper across his lips. “You didn’t think it was pure chance that you happened to hear about the murder and how you could obtain the proof, did you?”

  Leo just stared, his lips slightly parted before he caught himself and relaxed back into his seat. It was too late, he had already given himself away.

  Neither of them were foolish enough to ask the question that was on both of their minds: Why?
r />   Why would Peter deliberately hand over proof of what had happened to Chance’s father to Leo? Especially when he knew that it might get back to the McCoys, and eventually perhaps the Vasilievs.

  Fortunately neither of them needed to ask.

  “Do you know what game I play even better than poker? Chess. I always think several steps ahead.” He actually tapped his temple with one finger. “I knew you wanted me eliminated as a contender for the Houston territory. I knew you had the McCoy boys by the balls with that little debt of theirs. What better way to get to the Vasilievs than through them?”

  “But you forgot one tiny little detail,” Peter looked at Leo with eyes that were like coal. “The McCoy’s aren’t Vasilievs.”

  Now he focused his attention on Chance. “No one from New York was going to come in and avenge them. Not for the life of a McCoy. Not even for little Katya herself.”

  Chance didn’t fall for it the same way that Leo had. He turned to Leo, ignoring Peter. “You’re up.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Leo spat, still staring at Peter.

  Peter just looked at him and laughed. “Like their father, the McCoys are rash and stupid. You doing that number on Chip was just the icing on the cake.” He turned to Chance. “I had counted on the picture and ring to be enough to prod this one into ending up here at this table along with you. Thankfully, his brother helped me out.”

  So that explained it. Peter was smart enough to know the Vasilievs wouldn’t step in, but figured either Chance or Chip would want some form of revenge. He probably figured he was too big to kill, so one or both of them would settle on this game of poker.

  If Peter thought this game was the end of it, he was sorely mistaken.

  “Speaking of legs,” Peter said, shifting topics. “I noticed your little bird’s aren’t half bad. The black one? Did you really think that little display in front of Jacob fooled anyone? I’m sure he is enjoying her legs right now. Did she like the bear I sent her?”