by Sara Forbes
“You say this from experience?”
I shake my head. Me and my sisters that I’ve no intentions of telling you about, we talk. Kind of.
“Well, twins tend to talk a lot. Jack told me the story. Mia also. Something to do with poisonous snakes?” His face winces in recollection. “Rather a lot to do with poisonous snakes, actually. She made me read a whole Wikipedia page on fer-de-lances. Did you know that they’re responsible for more human deaths in the Americas than any other group of venomous snakes? That’s ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Anyway, nobody died. Jack’s rediscovered his creative side and his joie de vivre. Mia’s gaining traction in her career day by day. Their Aliens In Distress flick is still doing quite well, at least in the indie cinema scene.”
I chuckle. “I expected you to be quiet.”
He cocks his head. “Because I’m so quiet at the poker table?”
“Well…yes.”
“It’s the only time I am quiet. It’s not really my strong suit. Jack would tell you that. He’s the strong, silent one. He’s always complaining that I can’t keep my mouth shut.”
Hah, maybe my job will be easier after all.
“It’s hard to believe you’re twins. You’re much more fun to talk to.”
His eyes widen at the compliment that I genuinely mean. Having endured weeks of tortuous, stilted conversations with his twin last year, talking to Felix is sheer relief. And it helps to know he’s susceptible to flattery.
“For the record,” I tell him. “I’m happy that Jack has found his calling as a screenwriter slash producer.”
“All’s well that ends well?”
I flash him an insincere smile. It’s only just beginning, buddy.
“So…if my brother isn’t your villain then, of all nine billion people on the planet, it must be me?” he asks, all innocence personified.
“Unless there’s a triplet hiding somewhere.”
He laughs and flops back in the seat. “Not that I know of.”
The piano music has turned slow and sultry. The alcohol is softening the edges of my personality, everything seems so mellow and at the same time, exciting. He’s almost too gorgeous to look at in the hazy light of the chandeliers. When you have bone structure like that you really shouldn’t be gifted with golden skin, shiny hair and a perfect body as well. you certainly shouldn’t be blessed with a relaxed, easy-going nature designed to put his enemies at ease.
If he wasn’t such a ruthless shark, I wonder what it would be like, flirting for real with someone like Mr. Golden Boy here? And if he wasn’t curious about his brother’s former investigator suddenly showing up, how long would he sit here in this bar talking to me before somebody more interesting came along?
I gotta hand it to him though—his gaze hasn’t wandered once during our conversation even though at least five beautiful women have passed by the bar area. Either he’s keen to find out what I’m up to or he finds me interesting. Or maybe a bit of both.
If I were to suddenly change position or even just shift an inch forward in my seat, our knees would touch. I’m pretty sure that’s calculated on his part. It’s been a year since I got laid and I wonder if it’s beginning to show. I must be really desperate if I’m getting the hots for the target of my investigation.
I fan myself with a coaster.
He leans closer over the tabletop so that his breath tickles my cheek. “In all this delightful conversation, Cara Cole, Queen of the Fer-de-lances, you neglected to mention who you’re working for.” His smile hasn’t diminished any but a tiny muscle twitches in his cheek.
I retreat from his personal space. “I work for myself actually.” I say coolly.
“Good. Then give yourself a night off.”
A…night? A wave of heat rolls slowly up my body, something I can’t control so I’m not going to give myself a hard time over it. It’s just biology, hormones, and it’s not going to affect my powers of reason.
“I’m game.” I knock back the remainder of the Margarita for courage. He does the same.
“Are you staying here?” he asks as we put down our empty glasses.
“No. The Hard Rock,” I lie.
“Pick up you up outside there at eight?”
“Good plan.”
“Awesome. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I got a podcast thingy now. I mean, you’re welcome to tag along.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”
He nods, rises, and strolls away, heading toward a group of people who have started taking interest in him. I twist in my seat so I can observe them through my hair. As his wide shoulders twist, weaving his way around slot machine players, I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for sleeping drugs to work on a body like that.
4
FELIX
I’M CRUISING ALONG THE STRIP in my metallic blue lambo, watching the other assholes cruising along in their fancy cars, periodically beeping at them when they cut in front me. Well, that’s another item off the bucket list. Maybe it’s time I updated my bucket list.
I squish my fingers into the soft leather cover of the steering wheel, still pleasantly warm from the sun. Money’s nice when you have sick amounts of it. I did have lots of it over the years, but I always pumped it back into the game. Maybe I should have bought…well, possessions.
It’s a pretty warm night for March and the usual Saturday crowd are out in full swing—large gangs of Vegas revelers. Cleary, I need to take Cara somewhere she’s not expecting. I doubt she’d be into a magic show or an ageing rock star performance.
After the meeting in London, Jack told me everything he knew about Cara. He still had a blurred photo on his phone from last year. I took one look at the lean figure in the black shorts, the sexy legs, the smile, the enticing dark eyes and thought “hell, if she wants to chase me, no problem.” but I wasn’t prepared for her real-life manifestation—her aura, her persona, her intelligence and her sensual depth. She’s magnetic. I like the way we verbally bounce off each other. I get the feeling we could back-and-forth all night about anything and everything.
She’s not afraid to go against the grain, as reflected in her almost severe black dress which is sexy precisely because it doesn’t try to jazz up her features but rather plays them down, making me even more curious. Even her scent is elegant and sensuous and somewhat ethereal. Cherry blossom, I think. I want to smell it again.
How am I going to get her to spill all her secrets—who she’s working for, and why they’re after us, when she’s as sharp and cool as she is? She had no problem earlier deflecting my questions about Jack. She ended up getting me to talk instead. Not a word did she utter about herself. Why am I even surprised? After all, this is the woman who managed to abandon Jack on an island last year. If she’s capable of that, she’s capable of anything.
Egan’s expecting me to get this wrapped in two weeks. I want to nail it even sooner and have time to relax after that. He hinted that the budget only covered that amount of time—after that he cuts the funding on my lovely Gold VISA card which I have to say, I got used to rather quickly. There’s something to be said for a five-star suite overlooking the strip and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon when catching up with the talk shows—all on someone else’s budget.
But back to the date. If I’m going to loosen her up enough to tell me her secrets without her even realizing it, I need something different to make her come out of her shell. A gallery? Nah. Gruesome Bodies exhibition, no. Blue men? Nope, it has to be something a lot more leftfield. Maybe something dangerous. Maybe outside? A fun ride. Tigers? What’s there to do in this town for someone like her? There’s got to be something that’s edgy and different.
I pass a bunch of youths who are pointing skyward. OK, I got it: the Stratosphere tower rides. Or that scream-inducing leap off the tower from 829 feet. Major thrill. The adrenalin rush will loosen her up and we can snuggle afterward in a cinema or something. And then call it a night. I have to pace
myself—string her along on a series of well-behaved dates that gradually catch her off guard and let me get under her skin, to the secrets she’s trying to hide from me.
I’m coming up to the Hard Rock now. A woman comes out of the main door, standing tall and proud in a form-hugging sheath dress. Is that her? Yes, it is.
And wow.
Holy shit, I thought her outfit earlier looked amazeballs but this is positively dangerous. The demure, liquid black number comes right up to her collarbone, hiding everything once again, but falls at just above knee height, giving me a view of the tapering perfection of her thighs, calves and ankles. This woman is going to be the death of me. Even if she doesn’t abandon me on an island with deadly snakes, I know she’s going to kill me somehow.
I just hope she lets me kiss her before she does. And that she makes my death painless.
And quick.
No snakes.
I park in an illegal spot, step out and wave at her.
She glides toward me, her pumps not making a sound on the pavement. I watch her the whole way.
“Hi,” she says, her gaze sliding to my face to the car and back again. “A lambo. I should have guessed.”
“This old thing?” I scoff. “Jump in.”
“So. Where are we going?” she asks, buckling her seatbelt.
“I thought you’d like the Stratosphere ride?”
“OK, yeah, sure.”
“You don’t like that idea.” I say.
“No, sure, it’s great.”
“Great.”
There’s silence for a whole minute as I negotiate a traffic light. She’s tapping a finger against her phone case like she’s try to think of something to say.
“Look,” I say. “I know you don’t like the idea. And you know what, I don’t either.”
She chuckles softly. “It’s just, well, I’ve done it before.”
“Yeah? What’s it like?
Shrugs. “Lots of people screaming at something that isn’t even scary.”
“Speak for yourself.” I say. “I’d be petrified.”
She peers over her sunglasses at me. “Then why did you suggest it?”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“So, you’d do something scary for my benefit even if you were shitting yourself?”
“The scariest thing of all is bringing a woman on a date she’s not enjoying. Every man knows that. Hell hath no fury like a woman bored.”
“Are you for real?” she asks, laughing.
At least that laugh sounded genuine. Certain sounds you can’t fake. I don’t care what anyone says.
She turns to face me. “Well, what would you like to do?”
“No, no, no, it’s your choice tonight.”
“Why don’t you take me playing cards with you. Show me how you do what you do.”
“I can do that.”
Is this her idea of fun? Or does she think this is the best environment for extracting information? Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Let’s go to a no-name casino,” she says. “You go incognito and show me how to play this game.”
“No-name casino?” There’s an uneasy thump in my stomach.
“You can choose. Somewhere off the beaten path where you won’t be accosted by people wanting to do podcasts or whatever with you.”
I suspect she just wants to avoid security cameras. “If you’re quite sure this is your idea of a date.”
“I’m quite sure.”
She didn’t balk at the word “date” either time I’ve said it, so that’s something. Though she’s probably just luring me into a false sense of security. At least she isn’t trying to lure me to some abandoned warehouse on the bad end of town where nobody can hear you scream.
I park the car. “Hm, lucky I have this.” I reach around my seat and grab the freebie T-shirt that NJOY was handing out. I rip the cellophane wrapper with my teeth and flatten the dark brown garment on my lap.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” she asks.
“I need something more casual for this joint. Look away now if you don’t want to see naked male torso.”
She raises her hands to the sides of her head.
I unbutton my shirt from the top, nice and slow because she’s still looking at me. Curiosity and hunger burn in her dark eyes in equal measures. Her breaths are coming faster, shallower. It’s making me hard. It shouldn’t be, but it is.
As I undo the third button, she’s still looking. “You can look away now…I’ve hit the point where it gets pretty gratuitous,” I warn her.
She laughs. “You think I haven’t seen a naked man before?”
My erection gets harder so I lean forward and hurry the last three buttons. “I couldn’t say.” I whip off the shirt, crumpling it in my lap, and pull that T-shirt on as smoothly as I possibly can like this doesn’t faze me in any way.
“You’re advertising vapes,” she says, eyeing my chest critically as I straighten up. Yup, she hasn’t lifted her gaze off me for even a millisecond. If it was any other woman I’d make a joke to heat up the atmosphere further but in this situation? Gah, I’m stumped.
“It was a freebie. It’s all I got.” I pull on orange-tinted sunglasses and a cap and feel a bit more in charge. “Don’t want any extra attention,” I explain. “Anyone ogling me for instance,” I add pointedly.
“Yeah.” She flaps her hand in my direction. “Cos no-one will want to look at that.”
“Exactly. They’ll all be looking at you.”
Her smile is small but genuine and there’s a tinge of pink on her cheek that wasn’t there before. Is there a chink in her armor after all?
“Should I change too?” she asks.
I laugh, letting my gaze slide slowly from her face, over her chest and down to her knees as if I’m assessing her outfit for its suitability but really I’m just checking her out. “Much as I would love to experience that, I’d say you’re good to go. Besides, I only have one T-shirt.”
She returns my gaze, solemn and steady. Why can’t she be just a normal woman on a normal date? I’d make a mini-dress for her out of this T-shirt. I would have so much fun unwrapping her, peeling back the layers of which I’m sure there are many, and getting to the good stuff. No consequences after.
I lead the way from the parking lot to the stairwell. The elevator isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to be in an enclosed space with her where she’ll have full evidence of my attraction to her. “You’re going to be the player at the table. I’m just accompanying you,” I say as we reach the first landing.” We need a secret code.
Her dark eyes widen. I can imagine her being the know-it-all girl in school, a veritable Hermione Granger, sucking in information like a sponge. “Secret code? What kind?”
“A tactile one.”
“Tactile,” she repeats.
“Yes, with touch.”
“I know what it means,” she says, her voice huskier. Her gaze darts to my fingers which I’m flexing unconsciously. I’m so happy I thought of a legitimate excuse to touch her.
We’ve reached the casino level. But I don’t open the door. This time alone is just too precious.
“If I touch your arm with two fingers, it’s a hold.” I lift her arm which tenses immediately and place my forefinger against the back of her wrist. “Two fingers hold, one finger dump. Then watch my fingers on the table to see which cards I’m referring to.” I spread out my fingers, lifting two of them to demonstrate.
“This sounds like an excuse to feel me up.” Her voice is shaky, her cheeks pink tinged. “You do this with all your female apprentices?”
I swallow hard. “No-one’s ever asked me to teach them before.” I push through the door and hold it open for her. She gives me a raised eyebrows look as she walks through, deliberately brushing my side. I’ve got a huge grin on my face as I enter the casino behind her.
My grin rapidly falls. “Or we can do something else,” I say. I’ve just got a load of this place and it is truly awfu
l. Dingy lamps, peach wallpaper, scruffy carpet. Stale smoke and cheap carpet cleaning chemicals mingle in the air along with that Vegas signature scent of desperation.
“No, come on,” she insists. “I want you to teach me.”
“Fair enough.”
We mosey on toward the card tables. Nobody seems to recognize me. The green felt of the tables is frayed and stained. It’s a sacrilege. I have an urge to rip it off and tell the proprietor I’ll buy him or her new ones. Everything else can be skanky, but not this. What are we even doing here?
Looks like their main business is slot machines—grim-faced pensioners yanking levers with the weary ease of the addicted. If I had my way, I’d outright ban those machines. I try to read Cara’s face, but she’s showing no signs of disgust or boredom. Either she’s great at covering up or she isn’t averse to grungy environments.
“You ordering drinks?” An exhausted-looking waitress with smudged green eyeliner casts her weary glance over us.
“I’ll have a Coors Light. Bottle,” Cara says.
“Same,” I say. Probably the safest bet involving the least human contact. Plus, if I want to drive out of here, and I do very much, I need to watch the alcohol intake.
“If you were to pick one table which would it be?” Cara asks, waving at the array of miserable tables.
“None of them?”
“I know. But we’re here now. Let’s make the most of it.”
I point out a table. “But let’s sit over here first and grab a drink.”
We settle onto two barstools at a high table.
“So, what makes you different?” Cara’s eyes flicker over my face. “What makes you such a good player? Is it luck?”
“I use my intuition.”
“Oh?”
“Say I’m playing several tables at once, I only have a few seconds. It’s not like I can go calculating all the statistics.”
“So this…intuition. It’s a real thing then? It comes to you like magic?
“God, no. I mean, I wish it did, but I can't just play a suited hand because I feel it’ll make a flush. No, intuition is for figuring things like whether my opponent is bluffing, or he truly has a strong hand. I can do things like sense that a marginal hand is good at showdown, but I can't feel that the cards in the deck are in a certain order. I’m not psychic.”