“She get over eight years ago?”
“Not so you’d notice.”
After a moment Jake pointed out, “You’ve got the say-so to get her fired.”
Chance was well aware of that, but what would it accomplish? All the old feelings—the need, the desire, the possessiveness—had already come back to life. Getting her removed from the Queen wouldn’t make them go away. It wouldn’t get her out of his mind, and it would be pretty damned unfair to her. Hell, being the determined person she was, she would probably just go on down the river to the next casino, where he couldn’t see her every day, where he couldn’t watch out for her and make certain she was all right.
“Let her keep the job,” he said decisively. “It’s just for ten weeks, and then she’ll go back to school.” And everything would be okay.
If you can let her go, a tiny voice whispered.
He’d walked away from her once. Was he strong enough to do it again? Did he even want to do it again?
“It’s your decision,” Jake said. “What do your other sources say about these new folks?”
“They all seem to be exactly what they say. Bartenders, busboys and cocktail waitresses.” Mr. Ianucci paid him well to do background checks on all the Queen’s employees, and had even provided him with the means—a credit bureau membership to gain access to financial records, a cop on the take to provide access to criminal records—but Chance liked to double-check everybody. After all, the FBI was often able to find out things that other people couldn’t.
“Anything in particular you want to know about Mary Katherine Monroe?”
Chance stared at the painting that hung above the dining table. It had come with the apartment and consisted of blobs of primary colors in geometric shapes. Some joker of an artist had titled it Country Flowers in Bloom and persuaded some other joker to make prints and distribute it. It was true what they said—there was a sucker born every minute.
And he was the sucker born for Mary Katherine. Yes, there were plenty of things in particular he wanted to know about her. Such as every detail of the last eight years of her life. Why wasn’t she married to Mr. Right? Why hadn’t some guy swept her off her feet and claimed her for his own? Had there been many men in her life since him, and exactly how much a part of her life had they been? What did she do, think, say? How did she live? What had her life been like a week ago, and a week before that, and a week before that?
“No,” he replied. He had a million questions, but he intended to get every one of the answers from the source.
“Okay. I’ll run these people through our computers and see what comes up. How did this morning’s meeting go with the San Francisco partners?”
Chance related the details of the meeting—who was there, what was discussed, what was agreed upon. He had a great memory for details, so great that he could discuss business without missing a single point and still have at least half of his mind focused on something—someone—else. He could recite percentages and cuts on Ianucci’s latest money-laundering scheme while wondering where Mary Katherine’s new apartment was, and if she’d chosen a better neighborhood than the one where she’d spent last night, and when she was going to acknowledge the futility of trying to avoid him. There was something between them—always had been and, he would wager, always would be.
The trick was figuring out exactly what it was, and making it work. With his secrets between them, that last might be damn near impossible.
“Okay,” Jake said when he finished talking. “I’ll see what I can find out about these new people and give you a call. And, Chance? Watch out for yourself.”
It was Jake’s standard farewell. Chance offered his standard, too. “Will do.”
He always watched out for himself. When he lived a lie, when he worked with dangerous people and deceived them with everything he said, everything he did, if he didn’t watch out for himself, he could easily wind up dead. But somehow that Wednesday afternoon, it seemed there had been an extra measure of concern in Jake’s voice.
Because of Mary Katherine.
There was no need for Jake to worry. Chance was going to watch out for her, too. They were both going to come out of this in one piece—maybe together, maybe not. Either way, though, they would both survive. He was counting on it.
Hell, he was betting his life on it.
Chapter 3
It was a quarter after eleven, and Mary Katherine was fifteen minutes into her hour-long dinner break. She’d filled a plate from the buffet that lined one long wall of the employee lounge four decks down, snagged a bottle of cold water, then made her way to the bow end of the Texas Deck to eat in blissful solitude.
Now only a few bites remained on her plate. Her green-sequined heels stood next to her chair side by side on the deck, and her feet were propped on the seat of a second chair as she gazed into the darkness. Other than the paddle wheel, the quiet was broken only by distant sounds—an occasional raucous laugh from below, a train whistle somewhere off to the east, a whip-poor-will calling in the night. A faint breeze cooled the air, making the muggy heat bearable if not quite comfortable.
She’d had a busy evening, though the Queen always had busy evenings, according to Sara. Given the chance, she could probably doze off right there, at least until some other waitress in need of a dinner break came looking for her.
If anyone came looking for her, she hoped it was Chance, she thought, then felt a rush of guilt. No, no, she did not want him seeking her out…though she couldn’t deny she’d been keeping an eye open for him all evening, wondering when he would put in an appearance, curious whether he’d believed her insistence this afternoon that she didn’t want to see him tonight. Maybe so. The first cruise had come and gone with no sign of him.
Or maybe not.
The breeze brought a whiff of cigar smoke, pleasant in an outdoors-in-fresh-air sort of way. When she turned, her gaze went automatically to the shadows where he stood, as if drawn there by some power she didn’t understand. She studied him for a moment, though she really couldn’t see anything but shapes, and felt him returning the look. After a time, she gestured to the empty chair at the table. “Would you like to join me?”
For a long moment he didn’t move except to lower the cigar from his mouth. She idly wondered if it could be someone else standing there—one of the three dozen security guards, perhaps, or one of the countless customers on board for the Queen’s late cruise, but she didn’t give the possibility any credence. Not one of the three dozen security guards or the countless customers could affect her the way Chance did. In fact, not one other man in her entire life had ever affected her the way he did. It was him. She recognized him as surely as if a spotlight shone on his face.
Finally he moved from the shadows, approaching her with his easy, lethal grace, sliding lazily into the chair. “Considering the extremes you’ve gone to, I thought you might want to be alone.”
She shrugged. She was alone a lot. In the cosmic sense, she’d been alone for eight years. Ever since that warm April day when he’d disappeared without a trace.
“How’s it going?”
“My feet are killing me, but not quite so badly as last night. My back hurts, as well as every muscle in my legs, and sequins are still not the most comfortable thing to sit on, but…I’ve made a small fortune in tips, I’ve had two marriage proposals, and I’ve remembered to keep moving.”
“Because it’s harder to fondle a moving target,” he said dryly. “Just be prepared, angel—some men can manage anyway.”
“So I’ve learned. It’s definitely my most interesting summer job ever—not that that’s saying a lot,” she said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t want to waitress full-time, but it’s fun for a change.”
He shifted to prop one foot on the chair beside hers. “You look pretty sitting out here. Like some exotic bird.”
Her mouth curved in a rueful smile. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been called exotic before.”
“What’s exotic bu
t different and special? You’re definitely that, sugar. At least, in my world.”
The smile slowly faded as a twinge of hurt whispered through her. “Please don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I might believe them, and they’re not true.”
“They’re true, angel. Every word of them.”
“Mary Katherine,” she said sharply. “My name is Mary Katherine.”
He gave her a long, steady look that made her feel warm and cold at the same time. Anticipating and dreading. Wanting and needing. “I’ve never forgotten your name, Mary Katherine. I’ve never forgotten anything about you.”
Some traitorous part of her wanted to believe him—wanted it more than she’d imagined she was capable of wanting. Maybe because he’d been her first love, her only love, or maybe because she wanted to believe she hadn’t been a complete fool all those years ago, that she wasn’t about to prove the depths of her foolishness again. Whatever the reason, deep inside she wanted to believe him.
But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t.
With an uneasy smile and no finesse whatsoever, she changed the subject. “Do you really smoke those things, or is it part of the costume?”
It took him forever to pull his gaze from her face, to shift his attention to the cigar he held. He studied the burning tip as if it might hold some great secret before flipping it with practiced ease over the railing and into the river. “I go through about one a night. Sometimes they just burn to ash. Sometimes I don’t even light them. And sometimes I do smoke them. But I don’t inhale.”
She smiled faintly at his last dry remark. “How did you make the jump from garage mechanic to assistant head of security on a riverboat casino?”
“Is that your way of asking what I’ve done the last eight years?”
Mary Katherine considered it a moment, then shrugged. “I guess so.”
“I’ve worked. Different places, different towns. A year or so ago, I met Mr. Ianucci in New Orleans—saved him from getting arrested. To show his gratitude, he offered me a job. I’d never worked security before, but it turned out I was good at it. I got promoted quickly. And so here I am.”
“Arrested for what?”
He tilted his head to one side to study her. “Do you know anything at all about the man you’re working for?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t actually thought of herself as working for anyone in particular, but rather for a company—the Queen of the Night. Of course, somebody owned companies, usually lots of somebodies, but she hadn’t given even a moment’s thought to who owned the Queen.
“Anthony Ianucci is a very wealthy, very powerful businessman who’s usually under the scrutiny of one or more federal agencies.”
“You mean, he’s a criminal,” she said flatly. Which explained why Sara had called the security staff bodyguards this morning.
“I didn’t say that.”
“If the government is trying to arrest him—”
“The government is suspicious of his activities. If they could make a case against him, don’t you think they would?”
“But—”
“He’s a businessman, sugar—a very successful businessman whose business happens to be gambling. Because of the history of organized crime involvement in gambling, the feds tend to be overly suspicious of everyone in the industry.” He grinned lazily. “So keep tabs on that small fortune in tips you’re making and be sure you report every penny on your taxes next year. Otherwise, the IRS might come knocking at your door.”
She studied him for a minute, not nearly as amused as he was, then turned her gaze to the riverbank, watching the occasional lights in the distance. The Queen routinely cruised an hour upriver from Natchez, then two hours down, with the final hour back up to its berth. A four-hour ride to nowhere, for the sole purpose of entertaining well-heeled gamblers—or players, as Granddad preferred—and lining the pockets of Anthony Ianucci. “Does it bother you—working for a criminal?”
Chance laughed. “You’re not big on the concept of innocent until proven guilty, are you?” With the same exaggerated patience she sometimes found herself using with her students, he explained, “Mr. Ianucci has never been arrested. He has no convictions. The feds have no proof of wrongdoing. You want to know a little more about him before you judge and condemn him? He’s a devoted husband and father, or so say his wife and kids. He employs a lot of people, and he offers better wages and benefits than anyone else in the business. He runs clean games, and he gives a big chunk of his profits to charity.”
Interesting contradictions, Mary Katherine thought. But if she were a crook in a business that attracted lots of crooks—and federal scrutiny—she’d be fair to employees, run clean games and give away a lot of money, too. She’d present an image so squeaky clean that no one would ever suspect she could possibly be crooked.
“You said you saved him from getting arrested. Why?” The Chance she’d known was a little wild, a bit of a bad boy, but he’d had a healthy respect for the law and hadn’t shown the slightest inclination toward breaking it.
A distinctly uncomfortable look came over him. With a scowl and a shrug, he said, “I’ve had a few run-ins with cops over the years. I’m not particularly impressed with how a lot of them do their jobs.”
What kind of run-ins? What exactly had happened to him after he’d left her and Oxford behind? She’d thought of him living a carefree life, traveling from town to town, seducing vulnerable, naive women who believed his sweet lies, then packing up and moving on whenever the urge hit. She’d imagined him living the good life, while she’d nursed her broken heart, repaired her sullied reputation and put her life back together into some semblance of normal.
Maybe she’d been wrong.
Moving carefully, she got to her feet, then padded to the railing. Below she could hear the sound of water against the hull, and the music from one of the lounges was a decibel or two louder. For a time she stared into the river’s shadows before breaking the quiet with an unexpected question. “Did you ever regret it?”
Utter stillness settled around her. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, magnified a dozen times in her ears, and the rapid thud of her heartbeat. The paddle wheel, the river, the sounds of life both below decks and onshore all disappeared in an instant of pure anxiety that she’d asked such a question, and pure remorse that she wouldn’t call it back if she could.
Somehow he moved without breaking the stillness. One moment he’d been seated at the table. The next, without a sound, he was standing behind her, so close she could feel his heat, so near she could feel the very essence of him drifting around her, enveloping her. “Did I regret making love to you?” His voice was quiet, hard, empty of emotion—because he felt too much emotion. She knew. She felt it. “Never, Mary Katherine. But have I ever regretted leaving you? Yes. Hell, yes. Every minute of every day.”
She knew she should keep her back to him, knew that if she turned to face him, she just might fall so hard and fast that she would never recover. But she turned anyway in the narrow space between his body and the railing. Turned because she had no choice. Because she needed to see his eyes. Needed to see the truth there.
The look on his handsome face was intense. Powerful. He’d looked at her that way once before, that warm spring night when she’d told him she wanted him. Forget all the reasons they shouldn’t be together, forget their differences, forget her fiancé. She’d wanted him, Chance Reynard, more than she’d ever wanted anyone or anything in her life. And he had looked at her, and with that one look she’d known she’d made the right decision. Whatever happened in their relationship or in their lives, making love with him that night hadn’t merely been the right thing to do. It had been the only thing she could have done.
He raised his hand slowly, touched his fingertips to her hair so lightly that she might have imagined it, then stroked one finger along her jaw to her lips. “I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said h
oarsely. “I swear on my life, I never meant for that to happen.”
She breathed through her mouth, a short, pain-filled breath that dislodged his finger. “You could have prevented it so easily. All you had to do was stay.”
“Don’t you think I wanted to?” he whispered, bringing his other hand up, too, his touches tentative, featherlight, sending fluttery sensations through her.
“Nothing was stopping you.”
“Everything was stopping me. I was in so much trouble…I had to go.”
“Then you could have taken me with you.”
What he’d intended as a laugh, she suspected, came out a low groan. “Don’t tell me you would have gone. You were only weeks from graduating. They were expecting you back home in Jubilee. You were marrying Mr. Right. Don’t tell me you would have given all that up to go on the run with me.”
“I would have,” she whispered. She would have been scared spitless. She would have agonized over disappointing her parents and Granddad and hurting Jonathan, but she would have given up everything—everything—if only she could have had Chance instead.
With a raw groan, he cupped her face in his palms, then claimed her mouth with his, sliding his tongue inside as if it hadn’t been eight years since their last kiss, as if he hadn’t broken her heart and wounded her spirit and maybe done a bit of damage to his own spirit in the process. He kissed her as if he had every right, as if her mouth had been made for his alone, as if he might go mad without the taste of her, and she kissed him back as if she had gone mad without the taste of him.
The heat was incredible, the passion instantaneous, the need consuming. So much for keeping their distance, Mary Katherine thought in some small, still-functioning part of her brain. So it was wrong. Foolish. Dangerous. She needed this kiss. Just this one amazing, life-giving, sanity-stealing, incredible kiss. Just this one reminder that once she’d been wanted, needed, loved, in ways most women never knew. Just this one brief reliving, and then she would come to her senses again. Then she’d be ready for the next eight years alone.
Who Do You Love? Page 14