Know when to show your hand…and when to hedge your bets.
Randy Jansen can’t stand to just sit by and watch as a mysterious man throws money away on the roulette wheel, especially since Randy’s got his own bet going as to the reason this guy is making every play like it’s his last day on earth. The man’s dark desperation hits Randy right in the gut. Half of him warns that getting involved is a sucker’s bet, and the other half scrambles for a reason—any reason—to save the man’s soul.
Ethan Ellison has no idea what he’s going to do with himself once his last dollar is gone—until Randy whirls into his life with a heart-stealing smile and a poker player’s gaze that sees too much. Randy draws Ethan into a series of wagers that leads to a scorching kiss by midnight, but he isn’t the only one with an interest in Ethan’s vulnerability. Soon they’re both taking risks that not only play fast and loose with the law, but with the biggest prize of all: their hearts.
This ebook is not transferrable. Any effort to sell, share, or give this title away constitutes an infringement of the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Heidi Cullinan, POB 425, Ames, Iowa 50010
Copyright © 2017 by Heidi Cullinan
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945116-13-1
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Kanaxa
Proofing by Lillie’s Literary Services
Formatting by BB eBooks
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First publication 2010
www.heidicullinan.com
Double Blind
Heidi Cullinan
For Maura Peglar
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Copyright Page
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
More Books in the Special Delivery Series
Other books by Heidi Cullinan
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Crystal Thompson for the cat-training tips, Kari Hayes for the virtual motorcycle lessons, Tom and Nina Cullinan for the Vegas mug with my name on it which I drank out of every day in November 2009, Dan Cullinan for going with me on the virtual Vegas vacation and for putting up with a house that looked like a tornado hit it for twenty-five days again, Stephen Blackmore for the ins and outs of Mary Jane, The Central Iowa Authors for being the most awesome and supportive NaNoWriMo group ever, Mary Eagan for being the most amazing municipal liaison and den mother who ever walked the earth, NaNoWriMo and Chris Baty for one hell of a ride every November, LJ Amazon Nano for support and cameo appearances, Hillari Hoerschelman for the Spanish help (again), Susan Danic for reading the alpha draft, D.W. Marchwell, Dan Cullinan, and Catherine Duthie for being the world’s most awesome beta readers.
Thank you to Sasha Knight for showing me how to trim this behemoth into a lean, mean machine I’m pretty sure Crabtree would be proud of, and thanks as always to my patrons, especially Pamela Bartual, Rosie M, Marie, Kaija Kovanen, Sarah Plunkett, Tiffany Miller, Erin Sharpe, Chris Klaene, Sandy C, Sarah M, Deandre Ellerbe, Deanna Ferguson, Michele C, Jennifer Harvey, Katie M Pizzolato, Ninna, Karin Wollina, and Maija.
One of the best places to expose a person’s true character is at a poker table.
—Barry Greenstein
Chapter One
THE MAN AT roulette table number three on the main floor of Herod’s Poker Room and Casino played like a fool, and it drove Randy Jansen crazy.
Randy lay sprawled across the plush leather sofa in Billy Herod’s office, making occasional “Yes, I’m listening to you” noises as his employer launched into one of his monologues, but mostly Randy watched the security feed from the casino floor.
Though it was money in the bank for the house, this guy’s stupid playing made Randy itch. With the grimness of someone marking out a plot for his own burial, the somber-looking and meticulously clean-cut man laid out his chips and bet on black, over and over again. He lost every single time.
A nudge to his foot startled him out of his voyeurism, and Randy glared at Billy. “What?”
“Quit scanning my floor for dates, and tell me what you think of my brilliant plan.” Billy planted himself in front of Randy, his paunch rolling over the waistband of his expensive trousers. “Go on, I dare you to tell me it won’t work. I dare you.”
Randy glanced across the room to the other occupant of the office. Billy Herod’s godfather, Crabtree, was round and soft and tricked out in a massive head of white hair like Santa. He even had Santa’s laugh, and the sound rumbled out of him now, his blue eyes twinkling as he took in the byplay between Randy and Billy.
The fuck if Randy would give Crabtree the satisfaction. He turned to the television screen.
The man’s sweat wasn’t actually visible through the feed, but enough of the tells were there for Randy to read perspiration. The money, which could never have been much and was absolutely more than the guy should have been gambling with to start, was almost gone. The man’s shoulders rounded, and he watched the chips go as if sending his children out to slay monsters.
This time the nudge came at Randy’s shoulder. “Randy.”
Randy glanced at Crabtree, whose whole body trembled with his mirth, and yes, it did look like a bowl full of jelly. Randy wondered how many people had let themselves be distracted by this image right up until the moment the knife went into their belly, Santa’s eyes still dancing as he bled their life away.
“Randy.” Billy tried to poke again, but Randy rolled onto his back at the last second, escaping the jab.
He looked up at Billy. “It won’t work.”
Billy beamed and hitched his thumbs in his belt loops. “Oh, it will. See—”
“Just because you hire a bunch of twinks to walk around shirtless, it does not automatically follow that rich gay men will come in here to gamble. It’s a possibility, yes. But it’s also a possibility there won’t be enough rich men for you to make back what it’s going to cost.”
Billy sneered with imagined superiority. “It will work, because more and more of you gays are coming to Vegas, and I read a magazine that said gay men have money to burn. And it makes sense—no kids, and you’re even more oversexed than regular men. Rich gay men will come in droves when they see what I offer every Tuesday night.”
From the other side of the room he heard Crabtree’s chuckle.
Randy covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “God, they hit you with the stupid stick way, way too hard.” Randy ticked his objections off on his fingers. “First of all, J
unior, you’d have to hire all these cute young men to be your sugar-daddy bait, and cute twinks willing to work for your cheap-ass wages are not as thick on the ground as you might be assuming. They can get more working on the street. Which brings me to point two—if you get anyone in here, you will get street boys, which means you will also get police. As I recall, you and Crabtree don’t care for that kind of attention. Third, no matter how oversexed gay men might be, we aren’t idiots, and if you treat us like fools you’re generous enough to bilk every Tuesday night—”
He stopped as he realized his employer wasn’t listening, already lost in his latest wild hair. Crabtree’s laugh rumbled, and the old man occasionally slapped his thigh.
Randy tossed Crabtree a quick flash of his middle finger and settled into the couch. “Never mind. It’s a brilliant idea, Billy. Go for it. Just make sure I work that night, so I can watch.”
Billy rubbed his hands together as he stared at the faded 1960s photo of the Strip hanging above his godfather. “I’m gonna bring back the glory days, Randy. I’m going to be rich, and then—” He glanced down at Crabtree and briefly scowled. “Well. Then it will be good again.”
“You’re already rich.” Randy found his quarry on the cam. The man was still there because he hadn’t run out of money yet. He looked like somebody had beaten him about the head as once again the wheel failed to land on black. Randy threw up his hands. “Jesus, buddy. Switch to fucking red.”
“What?” Billy jerked himself out of his vision. He zeroed in on the screens with hawklike focus. “Is somebody cheating me?”
“God no.” Randy pointed to Roulette 3. “This guy keeps betting on black, over and over again. The wheel hasn’t hit black in six spins, but he just keeps at it.”
“Oh?” Billy smiled and leaned in closer. “Bet black again.”
Randy shoved him away from the camera. “No. I want him to go to his room, get drunk, and watch some porn on pay-per-view.”
“You want him to be such a good boy, why don’t you tell him to call his wife?” Billy stage-winked at Randy. “Because I’m right, aren’t I? There’s a wife at home.”
“Shit, no. There’s no wife.” Randy grimaced as the man ran his thumb along the pitiful stack. “He doesn’t have kids. He wanted some, maybe, but he never had any. He’s sure as hell not married. There was somebody, but they’re gone now.” On the screen, the man’s thumb slid around the top chip reverently. Randy shook his head. “And the cash went with them.”
“You’re full of shit.” Billy shook his head. “You can’t know all that.”
Randy could, and he did. He’d been watching this guy for half an hour. The particulars might shift a bit, but he knew he was more right than wrong. “He’s been dumped and screwed out of money, and now he’s decided he’ll turn his life around by betting his last dollar on the goddamned roulette wheel—by betting on black on a wheel which hasn’t won black since he sat down.”
Crabtree ambled over to stand behind Billy. Blue eyes flickered across the screen as they took in tells, making judgments, assessments, and predictions—all in a matter of mere seconds. Flattening his lips, Crabtree lifted his drink.
Fucking hell. Randy had really hoped he was wrong this time. Why, he didn’t know. Something about this guy got to him.
He returned his focus to the screen as Roulette Man slid another five-stack forward, all on black. Again.
Billy shook his head, mystified. “Why the hell does he keep doing that?”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Crabtree replied into his drink.
Randy cut a glare at the gangster. “Because he thinks the wheel owes him. He’s not an idiot. He suffers from delusional thinking. It’s been red too long. It’s due to go black, more now than ever. He’s thinking about laws of averages, and probably fate too. It has to fall to black. But the wheel isn’t ruled by averages or fate. It’s ruled by chaos. It’s completely random. It doesn’t owe him black. It doesn’t owe him anything.”
Crabtree grunted. “Which is a long way of saying he’s an idiot.”
Randy’s fingernails bit into his palms as the dealer called a halt on bets. The ball began to slow, getting ready to bounce itself into its final resting place.
“You do realize,” Crabtree said as the wheel continued to go around, “Billy Junior is not entirely wrong. The twinks will come because they will be thinking of the sugar daddies. The sugar daddies will come for the sex. And they’ll do the negotiating over these tables and the machines and at the bar, and they’ll finalize the arrangement upstairs in our hotel rooms.”
Billy turned to his godfather, surprised. “You really think it will work?”
Randy kept tracking the ball. “It’s tacky as hell, and I can’t believe you’re encouraging him, Crabtree.” Land on black, you fucker. Land on black.
Crabtree snorted. “Of course it’s tacky. Everything about this place is tacky now. I didn’t say it was a good idea. I just pointed out it would work. Except, as you say, for the police. Which will never do. But the fact remains, idiots are idiots and make us a lot of money.”
The ball landed. Randy swore, and Billy clapped his hands.
Crabtree sighed. “Ah, the dear, sweet lambs. They never disappoint.”
Roulette Man shrank farther into his chair. He had one stack of five chips left in front of him, and then it would be over.
“There’s got to be a way around the police.” Billy stroked his chin as he walked away from the camera screens. “I’ll have to work on that. Thanks for bringing it up, Randy.”
“You’re not welcome.” Randy thought the man at roulette might seriously vomit on the table. Over five fucking dollars. Goddamn, but Randy hated this. He hated how it bugged him as much as he hated watching. He should get up and forget about it, but for some reason he couldn’t.
Crabtree sat on the edge of the sofa and patted Randy’s foot. “People are people. They will be the card they were dealt to be.”
“This guy’s smart. Normally, anyway. He’s just got his head wrong.”
“Oh yes,” Crabtree agreed. “This one’s an ace.”
“You think?” Randy tilted his head and studied the man on the screen with new eyes. Then he nodded. And grimaced. “Fucking hell, he is. And stuck on playing himself low.”
Billy settled in at his desk. “You two and your aces and kings. You can’t figure people out just by watching them for five minutes.”
“It’s been half an hour,” Randy corrected him, “but yes. You can. And in a lot less than five minutes. It’s called a tell, Billy.”
“But you were so specific with this one,” Billy dogged, leaning forward now. “You think you’re right? This guy’s been dumped, cheated out of money, and down to his last dollar?”
“Yes,” Randy snapped.
Crabtree looked amused. “And for some unknown reason you care about him.”
Randy glared at him. “Not everyone is as unfeeling as you.”
“No, but you usually aren’t this involved. You’ve been funny, in fact, ever since Mitch got married.” A smile played at the edges of Crabtree’s lips. “Randy Jansen, are you going soft on me? Do you wish you could go down there and sweep this sorry little sack off his feet, then console him and live happily ever after?”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s it. I just wish I could go down there and save his poor, sorry ass. I’m dying for an excuse.”
Billy leered at Randy. “Bet you can’t.”
Randy snorted. “You want me to go down there and seduce this guy on a bet?”
“I want you to go down there, flirt with this guy, and find out his story. See if he’s what you think he is. And if you aren’t one hundred percent right, and if you don’t get him into bed with you, I win.”
“You’re a sick fuck, and I’m not taking your bet.”
“Okay—go and see if you’re right. I want to know.”
“If he’s gay?”
“If you were right about what happened to hi
m.”
Randy eyed Billy warily. “Why?”
“Because I’m curious.” When Randy snorted, Billy waved a hand airily. “I am. I want to know if you’re right or wrong, or even just close. I want to know if people can be pegged this well. It could be interesting.”
Which meant he thought it might be profitable.
Randy caught Crabtree observing him with an interest that unnerved him and forced his attention to the security feed. He thought of Crabtree’s blithe dismissal, of his own frustration. Maybe I can re-screw this one’s head on just a little. Send the ace to the top of the pack again. A sort of public service.
Besides, despite being a bit morose, Roulette Man was hot, and Randy enjoyed flirting. Probably would come to nothing, but it was always fun to mess with a hot straight man.
“Not that I’m taking it,” Randy said as the ball spun again, “but what would you want to bet for?”
“If I’m right, you’re one of my shirtless twinks on opening night for Gay Nite.”
Randy laughed. “I’m not a twink.”
“Then you’ll be whatever you are, but you’ll be in the sexy getup. Or at least something really embarrassing for you. But if you’re right, I make sure you get your own twink. Or whatever. Whichever one you like best gives you his full attention for the evening.”
Randy considered this. On the monitor, the roulette wheel went round and round. Randy knew with soul-deep certainty he wasn’t wrong.
Unfortunately Crabtree was also right. Randy had been feeling funny the past few months, and he didn’t like it. He was restless, irritated, and sometimes even lonely. Were twenty dollars of drinks and several hours of conversational dirge worth potential, unspecified tail?
Would it make the restlessness and loneliness better or worse?
Crabtree sipped his drink again. “When an ace falls, he doesn’t get up easily. The only way aces go high after falling as hard as this one has is under extraordinary circumstances. The odds are bad, Randy.” He stroked Randy’s ankle. “You can make much better use of your time and talents.”
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