Affair Of Risk

by Jayne Castle

  Published by Deli Publishing Co., Inc. I Dai Hammarskiold Plaza New York, New York 10017

  Copyright © 1982 by Jayne Krentz

  all rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any -iirvs. electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission :f the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Dell © TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

  Candlelight Ecstasy Romance™ is a trademark of Dell Publishing Co., Inc., New York, New York.

  ISBN: 0-440-10054-2

  Printed in the United States of America First printing—May 1982

  AFFAIR OF RISK

  CHAPTER ONE

  The crystal chandeliers threw a rich, glittering light over the elegant scene, and Kendra Loring paused on the marble steps above the thickly carpeted gambling floor to absorb it.

  Her hand lifted absently to push back the white mink collar which framed her intent features and protected her against the snowy cold of the Lake Tahoe evening. For a moment her well-shaped, long nails, gleaming with the latest shade of expensive-looking red, sank into the thickness of the fur, creating a brilliant contrast. Then, with a deft movement, she let the collar fall once again to lay flat against the belted white mink coat.

  Her cool hazel eyes flickered across the tables presided over by croupiers dressed in evening clothes as impeccable as those of the customers. Or did one refer to those who came to gamble as "customers" in a place as posh as this? Kendra wondered with a wry smile.

  At this very intimate, very exclusive casino on the California-Nevada border, there were no flashing neon signs outside, no casually dressed, touristy patrons, and there was no harsh rattle of slot machines. Case Garrett's club had an old-world Monte Carlo sophistication about it.

  A great deal of money had been lavished in an effort to reassure the wealthy crowd that they were indeed enjoying the leading edge of aristocratic entertainment. The casino was small, but the amount of money its clients dropped at

  the tables was not. Kendra had proof of that tucked inside the zipper pocket of the white mink muff she held in one hand.

  The thought of that proof hardened the momentary humor that had touched her mouth as she considered the scene in front of her. She was here on business, and the sooner she concluded it, the better.

  "Madam wishes to take a place at the baccarat table? Or perhaps the roulette wheel?" The voice was haughty and male; the accent fake French.

  Kendra turned her head in surprise to find a large man in black-and-white evening dress standing politely at her side. There was a hint of a paunch not entirely concealed by the tailoring of his jacket, and the shoulders were much too wide. He was somewhere in his late thirties, she decided, assessing the once-broken nose and the watchful brown eyes. A well-dressed bouncer. And the fake French irritated her.

  " Mais, oui," she murmured in her best college French. "But later, perhaps. I am here to see Monsieur Garrett. Would you be so kind as to take me to him?"

  She waited politely, knowing he hadn't understood a word she had said, and wondered if the phony accent would still be in place when he figured out an answer. But she was wrong. The man had caught one word and seized on it with obvious relief.

  "Mister Garrett?" he said, gamely maintaining the accent and struggling to hold the haughty look. "You wish to see the owner?"

  Again, driven by a perverse desire to destroy some of the expensive illusion around her, Kendra replied in French.

  "If you would take me to him, I would be most grateful. He and I have business to transact, you understand." She lifted one eyebrow, affecting an expression every bit as arrogant as the bouncer's.

  For a moment there was a war of wills conducted on the marble steps. Kendra knew she wasn't playing the game the way the man was accustomed to having it played. He had, in effect, politely asked her to identify herself, and she had failed to take the hint.

  Her cool hazel eyes duelled with his narrowing gaze for a tense moment, and then she smiled in spite of herself. This time she spoke in English.

  "If you'll just direct me to Mr. Garrett's office, I promise not to use any more school French on you. I'm not here to gamble. I have business with the casino owner."

  The large man stared at her for an instant, and then a slow, unwilling smile crossed the somewhat scarred lips.

  "I'd appreciate that, ma'am," he said in a flawless, perfectly natural longshoreman's drawl. "I didn't understand a word you said. Other than an Arab now and then, we don't get many folks who actually speak French."

  "I'm sure your accent is most impressive in the majority of cases," she assured him coolly, her humor fading as she realized exactly who or what she might be conversing with. Even in evening dress, a bouncer was still a bouncer, and this man looked as if he had come to his present position after an extensive apprenticeship. She didn't care to dwell on the sort of tasks he might have performed during the long road to his current success.

  "I can find Case for you, if you like, but he's not in his office. This time of the evening he's just finished his round of the kitchens and he's headed back out here to do a bit of mingling. Good for business, you know," he confided.

  "I can imagine," Kendra returned smoothly, her eyes going back automatically to the gambling floor. It was early yet, but already the crowd was beginning to thicken rapidly. As she stood beside her official greeter a laughing group of expensively dressed men and women came in out of the snowy night, received an aloof, welcoming nod from

  the man at her side, and made their way eagerly down the marble steps.

  "If you'll wait here, I'll see if I can scare him up," the bouncer volunteered helpfully.

  "Thank you..." She broke off inquiringly, realizing she didn't know the name of the man with the somewhat beaten-up face.

  "Wolf, ma'am," he supplied quickly. "Short for Wolfgang. Wolfgang Amadeus Higgins." He smiled apologetically.

  "I see," Kendra responded a little blankly. "Well, then, thank you, uh, Wolf. I would like to get this business with Mr. Garrett out of the way as soon as possible so I can be on my way."

  "Sure. If you'll give me your name, I'll tell him you're here."

  "My name is Kendra Loring. He won't recognize it," she added with a smile. "You may tell him I'm here over a matter concerning a Mrs. Donna Radburn."

  A flash of recognition at the second name lit Wolf's features for an instant and then was diplomatically buried. "Wait here, Miss Loring. I'll find Case."

  Kendra stood beside the alabaster railing that circled the gambling area and watched Wolf disappear into the crowd. For a long moment she watched the action below her and wondered idly how Donna had ever been so foolish as to get herself mixed up in the dangerous world of high stakes and high-risk luck. How could all the people in the casino fail to realize the inherent darkness that lay below the glittering surface?

  But perhaps that's what attracted them, she decided philosophically, her fingers resting lightly on the rail. The luxurious casino fairly screamed power and money and danger. For some, that would be an irresistible lure. She wondered at the sort of man Case Garrett must be, knowing in her bones he would probably be exactly like his

  casino. There would be an outer polish bought with money from a source that was probably best left unquestioned, and it would cover the dangerous inner core of the man. Kendra was sure of it.

  It seemed clear to her that only a man who had lived a lifetime in the shadowy world of menace and corruption could run such a successful casino. He was probably an ex-gangster and possibly not so "ex," she told herself scornfully. Kendra knew the gambling houses were well policed by the state, but everyone knew the mystique of the
dark side of the business clung.

  Which was not to say that the gambling was run dishonestly. There was no need, she thought wryly. The odds always favored the house over an individual player.

  No, she told herself, she didn't want to hang around here any longer than necessary. Her hazel eyes moved restlessly around the room, momentarily catching sight of her own reflection in the mirror-paneled wall to her left.

  She recognized the woman who stared back at her. She ought to have. Kendra spent money and exercised great willpower creating that person. The overall effect was one of remote aloofness, which suited her perfectly.

  Unfortunately, because one seldom smiles spontaneously at oneself, she had no idea how that remoteness vanished under the exploding sun of her own smile. Wolf Higgins had seen it, of course. It was the reason he'd jumped so quickly to track down his boss. A lot of people did things for Kendra under the influence of that dazzling smile, which made her hazel eyes glitter beguilingly. Kendra liked to think, however, that people were really responding to the politely masked forcefulness of her not inconsiderable will.

  It never occurred to her that people reacted to the smile, because Kendra had never thought of herself as a beauty. There was a strength about her clear, intelligent eyes,

  straight, no-nonsense nose, and firmly sculpted cheekbones and chin. Strength, but not beauty.

  If pressed and if she happened to be feeling in a self-generous mood, she would have described her assortment of features as reasonably but not overly attractive. But such an average assessment would have failed to denote the hint of sensual fullness in her lower lip, the inner vitality, which expressed itself in a slender, strong body, and the hint of challenge that was reflected in her eyes. She would also have said she looked her age—twenty-nine.

  "Attractive" would also have been inadequate to describe the multishaded light-brown hair with its natural hints of sunlight, honey, and warmth. It was worn this night in its usual sleek coil at the back of her head, but on the rare occasions when it was released, the soft brown mass fell to her waist.

  The white mink coat seemed to emphasize rather than conceal Kendra's narrow waist, small, high breasts, and full hips. Gold high-heeled sandals accentuated the shapely curves of her legs, made strong by San Francisco hills. Her body was a good one, Kendra liked to think, not because it was voluptuous but because she had made it strong.

  Strong and skilled. Never again would she have to fear a man's sexual violence. Never again would she find herself helpless against a man bent on rape.

  Deliberately she turned away from that last thought and from the image in the mirror. Her gaze swung back to the gaming floor, searching for Wolf Higgins.

  She saw him almost at once, speaking earnestly to a man who had just emerged from an entrance on the far side of the circular gambling arena. Case Garrett, no doubt, Kendra thought, her hazel eyes narrowing in barely concealed dislike.

  Her glance went from Wolfs battered face to the face

  of his boss, and at that precise moment Garrett glanced up and saw her.

  The shock was wholly unexpected and unbelievably staggering. Instinctively Kendra found herself grasping the cold railing for support as she met the full force of his one-eyed, night-dark gaze.

  She did not know the man, her mind almost shouted, curiously incensed by the strange flash of elemental recognition that arced between herself and Garrett. They had never met! What, then, caused this frightening sense of deja vu, which threatened to overwhelm her. The temporary vertigo was so strong that for a timeless instant she almost convinced herself that Case Garrett had experienced the same unnerving sensation.

  But that was ridiculous. Pure fantasy. Deliberately Kendra willed herself to control the strange tension that gripped her. The fleeting moment passed, mercifully, and reality returned with a rush.

  He was, after all, only another man, probably a crook. How could he have affected her so?

  She knew he was watching her intently as he listened to Wolf. She felt the power in the dark-eyed gaze, a power which seemed intensified b-y the black velvet patch he wore on his left eye. It was as if the force of his will was channeled into the remaining orb and somehow doubled.

  His gaze never released hers as he stepped down onto the red-carpeted gambling pit and started across the room toward her. Kendra had a sudden desire to turn and flee, but she fought it with self-derision, forcing herself to study the advancing man with cool hauteur.

  The power in the compelling darkness of his gaze radiated throughout Case Garrett. Kendra had ample time to register and analyze the magnitude of it as he made his way toward her, Wolf trailing in his wake.

  It was there in Garrett's long, gliding stride, which bespoke a smoothly coordinated body. It was in the arro-

  gant set of his broad shoulders and the supple leanness of his tapered waist and hips. And it was uncompromisingly mirrored in his face, which had seen far too much in its time.

  Automatically Kendra estimated his age at around thirty-six or thirty-seven. And, as with Wolf, she was willing to hazard a guess that his apprenticeship had been in a tough school. It showed glaringly, to her eyes at least, through the expensive white silk of his shirt and the fine black broadcloth evening jacket and close-fitting trousers.

  His hair was black; as black as the sixteen-hundred-foot depths of Lake Tahoe. But there was a hint of moonlight in it, Kendra thought fancifully. A faint rippling of silver showed at his temples. The black pelt was neatly combed back and away from the wide, intelligent forehead, and at the back, it almost touched the crisp white of his collar.

  There was a silky, sooty fringe of lashes around his dark eye, the softness of which did nothing to relieve the harsh contours of his face. The power and male arrogance of Garrett was clearly detailed in the high thrust of his cheekbones, the aggressive strength of his nose, and the implacable line of his jaw and chin. Not a handsome man—a hard man.

  He was dark and dangerous, Kendra concluded. A man one could easily come to fear, her feminine heart added. Yet, she knew beyond a doubt that it was that femaleness in her that had reacted so violently to the initial shock of seeing him. Her fingers tightened on the railing, and she lifted her head in unconscious defiance. No, she did not know this man.

  Only business had brought her to the fringes of his environment tonight, and she would take great care to stay on her side of the border, she decided as he covered the last of the distance between them. She watched him take the marble steps with an easy, catlike grace, and then he was in front of her.

  He wasn't as tall as the massive Wolf, she reflected abstractedly, less than six feet, but he nevertheless seemed to dwarf her own five and a half feet.

  As if in protective retaliation against the unwarranted sense of recognition she had experienced on first seeing him, Kendra made no attempt to hide her condemnation of the man and all he represented. Her eyes dropped deliberately over the fine clothing, letting him know subtly that she saw the shark underneath the surface.

  She knew he had absorbed and understood the impact of her censorious glance. Something ominous flickered in the depths of his dark gaze, and then he spoke.

  "Miss Loring? I'm Case Garrett. I'm told you wish to speak to me."

  The voice fit the man, deep and dark and outwardly polite. A voice that could seduce a woman or tear her to pieces. At the moment it hovered in neutral territory, as if waiting to see which tactic would be necessary with her.

  "My business concerns Donna Radburn," she told him in her own cool, slightly husky tones.

  "So Wolf said. Would you care to come to my office?"

  Without a word she turned and walked beside him, aware of Wolfs eyes on them as the pair moved around the promenade that circled the gambling floor.

  "I gather you managed to thoroughly disconcert poor Wolf by speaking genuine French to him at the door," Case remarked, slanting a speculative glance down at Kendra's deliberately impassive features as he led her along a plushly carpeted ha
ll. "That wasn't very kind. He's worked hard on that accent."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Garrett," she responded coolly, stepping past him as he indicated an open door. "But I wasn't in the mood to go along with the fantasy. I'm here on business."

  "Pity," he murmured dryly, shutting the door behind

  him, "considering how much money has been spent on the fantasy. May I take your coat?"

  She unbelted the expensive fur, submitting to his small act of gallantry in removing it from her shoulders. Kendra knew his eye moved with interest over the slender sheath of blood-red silk she wore, but she ignored the masculine glance, her own gaze taking in the elegantly restrained decor of his office.

  Thick gray patterned carpet flowed from wall to wall, the color repeated in the velvet-covered chairs. A heavy black glass desk dominated the room, and there was a designer's touch in the accents of white and tan elsewhere.

  Her dress made a splash of silky flame across the gray velvet chair as she took a seat. Without hesitation she unzipped the hidden pocket of the white muff and withdrew a check.

  "I've brought this on Donna's behalf. It's not the full amount she tells me she owes, but it's nearly half. The rest will be available in a couple of months."

  Case Garrett sank into the black leather seat behind the desk and reached for the check, scanning it quickly before glancing up to find Kendra's cool, faintly accusing eyes on him. The dark gaze narrowed and hardened as he took in her expression. Briefly Kendra found herself wondering how he'd lost his left eye. Then she put the question aside. It was no business of hers.

  "I get the impression this whole task has been somewhat distasteful for you, Miss Loring," he observed calmly, a hint of deliberate baiting nearly buried in the soft words.

  "Very. Now, if I may have some sort of receipt for the amount of that check, I will be on my way."

  "Why did Donna send you? Why didn't she come herself?" Case asked, idly leaning back in the chair and making no obvious move to write out a receipt.

  "There are reasons, Mr. Garrett. The receipt, please?"

  He glanced again at the check. "The amount Mrs. Rad-- burn owes is considerably in excess of this," he drawled