All In (4 page)

“There was a dealer at the Rollio—Marty Simmons—who dealt from the bottom of the deck. It took us a while to figure out what he was up to. The man had great hands, but the numbers don’t lie. If there’s something weird going on, I’ll figure it out.”

“And if it’s not the dealer? If someone messed with the electronic shufflers? Or something like that?”

“That your next question?” Daisy asked.

The FBI agent shrugged.

Her turn.

She was done playing nice. “Why does the FBI have an undercover agent at a poker tournament?”

Ryan’s lips squeezed together in a thin line. “Try again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t talk about the details of an ongoing investigation.”

Un-freaking-believable
. She wanted to smack him in the face, but—knowing Ryan—he’d probably like it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Then what the hell are we doing here?”

“That your question?”

“No.” She tried again, thinking hard. “Are you investigating the casino or any of its employees?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Bullet,” she asked, forcing the name out between clenched teeth. “Are you investigating Bullet?”

Ryan leaned back slightly. His head cocked to the side. For a moment it looked like he was going to refuse to answer her question—again—but then he shook his head. “Not at this time.”

It was a small concession, but some of the tension in Daisy’s body eased for the first time since he’d said “FBI” earlier in the day. Whatever Ryan’s investigation was about, it didn’t have anything to do with Bullet or her. Of course, he could still screw everything up with a few well-placed words.

Then there was the concussion.

Ryan didn’t look particularly interested in pressing charges at the moment, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back as soon as his investigation was over. Assaulting a law enforcement officer was serious business.

And what if something happened to Ryan?

The man may be a major pain in her patootie, but she’d hate to see him hurt. Really hurt, not just glazed and smiling. Her heart beat double time, slamming against her chest. “You should have gone to the hospital earlier.”

Ryan leaned forward, so close she could feel the heat off his body. He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Worried about me?”

“Is that your question?”

“Yeah.” The grip on her shoulder tightened, drawing her in close. “I kind of think it is.”

“I’d hate for anyone to get hurt,” she said, picking her words carefully. “I don’t want Bullet in trouble.”

“Are you worried about me?” Ryan repeated, his voice a gentle growl.

“Yeah.” And why was that so hard to admit? She’d worry about anyone in the same condition.

Not true
, said a tiny voice inside her. Anyone else, she would have sent to the hospital—under armed guard if necessary—but there was something about Ryan…

Under his playful attitude and macho FBI agent persona, there was a strong man who Daisy wanted to get to know better, wanted to take care of.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “It’s no big deal.”

His brow creased, like he didn’t believe her, but then he leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth grazed her lips as his hand curved around her neck, tilting her head to exactly the right angle. He came off the couch, kneeling down in front of her to bring them closer together. The kiss in the bathroom had been hurried and heated. It had exploded in her mouth and driven her out of control.

This was something else.

Something almost sweet.

Then Ryan pulled away. “That was a mistake.”

Chapter Five

Ryan really needed to stop kissing Daisy. The woman was cute, spunky, and pushed all his buttons in a way he couldn’t quite understand. She was also a complication he didn’t need. Not when the Bureau was already breathing down his neck about maintaining professional standards.

He stood up and turned away, focusing on the lights outside the hotel room window. It was closing in on nine o’clock, but the sun still gleamed over the desert and heat waves curled off the nearest buildings. Inside, the air conditioning kept things nice and cold.

Not cold enough
, he thought, smiling ruefully as he adjusted his blue jeans.

He needed to think.

Casino management thought something was wrong at their card tables, but instead of pulling in a specialist or calling the police, they’d brought in a college professor. A genius, if her story about Harvard at sixteen and two PhDs was anywhere near true. The woman was completely out of Ryan’s league.

Even if she had moaned like a schoolgirl when he kissed her.

They were playing tit for tat. Technically it was Daisy’s turn, but there was still one question he needed to know the answer to. “If you found someone cheating at the tables—”

“When I find them,” Daisy said. Why was she so confident?

“When you find them, what would you do with them?”

“I wouldn’t do anything. Bullet would.”

And that was the crux of the issue. Ryan’s hands squeezed tight into fists. Las Vegas was a desert town built on blood and fury. Back in the day, a manager who found someone cheating in his casino would have taken the perpetrator into a back room and given the person a fiendish beating. Things had changed. These days, there were numerous legal avenues a man could take, but somehow, he got the impression that Bullet didn’t care about “legal.”

The man was old-school.

Ryan rubbed his stomach, biting back an oath when his hand touched a fresh bruise. “What would Bullet do?”

There was a long pause, as if Daisy hadn’t considered the question before. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Ryan turned, glaring at her in disbelief. “Want to feel the bruise on the back of my head?”

Daisy looked small, sitting on the hotel chair. She pulled her legs in tight against her chest. “He just—he thought—”

“He saw me grab you and figured I was the bad guy,” Ryan said. “I didn’t say he was wrong. Nor did I say I wouldn’t do the exact same thing if I saw someone lay hands on a friend of mine.” And what kind of friends were they, anyway? “I’m just saying that’s not the action of a guy who practices non-violence. He was asking for his baseball bat.”

“It’s a limited edition Louisville Slugger,” Daisy said. “I gave it to him for Christmas a few years back.”

“And he was just going to show off his present?”

“Probably not.” Her grip tightened on her legs.

“What would he do if he found someone messing with the poker game?” Ryan demanded. “Invite them in for tea and crumpets?”

“Donuts—” Her fair skin colored. Daisy’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips and Ryan knew, absolutely knew, in every fiber of his being. Here was the lie. “I don’t know what he’d do. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve still got to find the guy.”

It changed everything. Because Ryan may be the kind of useless son-of-a-bitch who got his partner shot, but he couldn’t ignore possible criminal action going on beneath his nose. If Bullet gave the guy a beating—or worse—then Ryan would have to arrest him.

And then he’d probably have to arrest himself because if he saw tears in Daisy’s eyes, there was no telling what he might do.

He really needed to stop kissing the woman.

“You find your cheater and you bring him to me,” Ryan said. “Not Bullet. Understand?”

“Because card cheats are under federal jurisdiction?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll have the FBI so far up the casino’s ass, it’ll make Bullet wish it was a tax audit.”

Her eyes went wide. Daisy’s mouth dropped open. “You’re bluffing.”

Probably. It would take a lot of juice to get that kind of reaction from the Bureau and at the moment, Ryan was coming up dry. She didn’t need to know that, though. “Sometimes you have to go all in to get what you want.”

“Okay.” Daisy’s voice was small. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Ryan felt like a bully. It was definitely not what he wanted, but he was running out of options. “You notice anything suspicious, you bring it to me.”

“Fine.” And then her hands curled into fists, as if she was thinking of fighting back. That was his bunny. “You don’t have to be a jackass about it.”

“Yeah, I do.” Because if he wasn’t being a jackass, then he’d be reaching for her to finish what they’d started a few minutes earlier, running his hands over her warm body, feeling her curves, making her call out his name over and over again.

The room suddenly felt small. The hotel bed seemed way too close. Hot air buffeted Ryan from every side. He needed to get out of there. He needed to think. “We’ve both got a big day in the morning, and I need a shower.” A cold shower to calm his fiery libido. “You planning to go out tonight?”

“Not really,” she said, and there was no lie in her voice, just bitter resignation.

“Good.” At least if she was tucked away safely in her room, she wouldn’t be consorting with mobsters or flirting with strange men in her pajamas. “I’ll be right next door. Working. If you need food, you call room service and check the peephole before answering. If you want to go out, knock on my door. Understand?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He walked to his room and slammed his door, not caring what a certain curvy neighbor might think.

He wanted a smoke, but he’d tossed out his last pack of cigarettes in college. No sense going back now.

He needed a drink, but he still had work to do.

So he called down to room service and ordered a steak. Two hours later, the food was gone. The paperwork was done. And he couldn’t stop staring at the wall between room 811 and 813. Daisy was over there. All he needed to do was walk next door.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed Jack.

“Fuck,” his ex-partner answered. “You know it’s after midnight, right?”

“I’m on the left coast.”

“California?”

“Nevada.”

“Damn,” Jack said. “That’s not the coast. It’s the desert. What are you doing there?”

“Undercover.”

“Right.” There was a long pause. Jack yawned. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not particularly.” Ryan flopped back onto the hotel bed. His room wasn’t quite as nice as Daisy’s—he didn’t have her pull with the staff. Instead of a king-size bed and a sitting area, it had two doubles. The floor’s air conditioning unit cut off the view.

He kicked off his shoes. “I met a woman.”

“Finally. How long has it been? Six months?”

“Since the shooting.”

“That’s almost a year.” There was a long pause. “Is it Stephanie? I met her at a conference a few years back. I know she’s your type but—dude—she’s on her fifth husband.”

“Not Stephanie.” Ryan frowned. “You think she’s my type?”

“Tough as nails? Legs for days?” Jack laughed. “Yeah, she’s your type. I’m surprised you haven’t proposed to her yet. You being the marrying type and all.”

“Maybe.” Ryan considered it for a long moment, then shuddered. Definitely not. These days, he was definitely interested in something a little more compact. “Can you run a background check for me?”

“Sure thing.” There was a long pause. “You got a name?”

“Daisy Adams.” He could hear Jack typing in the distance. “Are you looking her up in the database?”

“Google.” There was a pause. “Cute little college professor?”

Ryan bit back a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“Hell. Have you seen her CV?”

“Not really.”

“This chick went to Harvard.” There was a pause. “And UCLA. You meet her playing poker?”

Poker. Ryan frowned. He reached for his computer and Googled Daisy. There were a bunch of different articles and her CV. He clicked over. It was six pages long. She really was a genius.

And there on top of the list of publications was a book: “
Ante Up: A Statistical Analysis of Casino Poker
.”

No wonder she thought she could play.

He searched for the title on Amazon. It was available as an ebook for $12.99. That seemed pricy for a digital file, but at least some of the money would go to Daisy.

He bought the book.

Something to keep him entertained at night.

“You seriously met this woman?” Jack asked. “And you like her?”

“Something like that.” Ryan shook his head. He shouldn’t have said anything. This was just a case. Of course, he’d already gotten Jack out of bed. He may as well talk to the guy. “How are you doing, Jack?”

“Fine.” Ryan’s ex-partner was ten years older than he was. Tall and lanky, he’d always been the brain to Ryan’s brawn, but he’d also been capable of holding his own.

Right until he’d been shot in the spine by one of Morelli’s men.

“You getting around okay?”

“Fine,” Jack repeated.

“Linda and the kids doing okay?”

“Linda got moved to the night shift.” There was a long pause. “She’s talking about having another kid—she always wanted three—but money’s tight these days. We’re trying to build up a cushion.”

Another kid. They’d been talking about it before the accident. But now? Ryan hadn’t even known it was possible. Jack couldn’t walk, but the rest of the equipment had to be working if they were still considering it.

“That’s great,” Ryan said.

“Don’t get too excited.”

“Yeah, well, let me know if you need any help around the house…or with Linda.”

“Fuck off.” Jack laughed, then he hung up.

What were best friends for?

Chapter Six

Daisy leaned back in her seat to get a better view of the tournament. At least this morning she’d remembered to make coffee in her room. The Styrofoam cup wouldn’t last for long, but it was better than nothing. Now, if she could just find a waitress.

“Morning.” Ryan slid into the seat beside her. “I knocked on your door—thought we could walk down together.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” She’d left fifteen minutes early. She may know the sexy FBI agent’s secret—they might even have come to some kind of truce—but she wasn’t his sidekick. She wasn’t about to make things easy for him. She sipped her coffee and watched the people moving around the poker room.

Men. Women. Old. Young. Most of them looked refreshed. Some looked anxious. A few of the players just looked hungover.

She turned to glance at Ryan, trying to gauge his comfort level.

Mr. Sexy Agent Dude was dressed in tight blue jeans, a combed cotton T-shirt, and a smile that sent a burst of energy shooting down her spine. How the hell did he do that? Was it some kind of secret voodoo mystery sauce?

Probably not. She really should have paid more attention in biology.

“You change your mind? You going to tell me why the FBI’s interested in a poker tournament?” she asked.

“Jesus, Daisy—” He glanced around, checking to see if anyone had heard them. “No. I’m not.”

“I can be helpful.” She was smart and capable. She probably knew more about the mathematics of poker than anyone else in the room. If the FBI was going to investigate something at the tournament, then the least she could do was help. It was her civic duty.

She’d thought about it a lot the night before while she’d been eating room-service tortellini and trying not to think about Ryan on the other side of the wall.

Ryan naked.

Ryan sleeping.

Ryan in the shower.

She shook her head to dispel the image of firm abs dripping water. What she wouldn’t give to lick them…no. She took a deep breath. She had to be firm. He may be an ooey-gooey treat wrapped in secret voodoo mystery sauce, but she was on a diet. No more fantasizing. No more lusting.

Definitely no more kissing.

“I’m not an idiot,” she said.

“Yeah, I read your CV.”

“And?”

Sex-On-Legs rolled his eyes. “You’re not an idiot.”

“So, you’ll tell me?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then you can go to hell.” Daisy stood up and downed the last of her coffee, crushing the Styrofoam under her fingers. She started to march across the floor. Away from Ryan.

Then she saw Bullet.

Hell
. The old man was wearing a tailored suit and a granite smile that said: “Don’t fuck with me.” There was a group of players surrounding him—all wanting to get in good with the casino’s manager—but that didn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow in Daisy’s direction.

He’d obviously seen her arguing with Ryan and wanted to know what it was all about. If she kept walking, then he’d find her and ask questions. He’d want to know if Ryan had upset her. He’d want to get out his bat.

The idiot was going to get himself arrested.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Daisy spun around and collided with a wall of hard muscle. Ryan. He smelled so good, so masculine. Her mouth watered.

“I really don’t want to do this,” she told him as her fingers curled into his shirt. Then she pushed herself up onto her tip-toes and kissed him harder than she’d ever kissed any other man in her life.

The warmth. The heat. The taste which was like donuts, sugar, and the best mornings of Daisy’s life.

Fireworks exploded across her skin and she melted a little inside. This was what she’d been missing all those years with all those other guys.

Secret voodoo mystery sauce.

“Just a chemical reaction,” she murmured against his mouth. “Nothing to get excited about. Just outside stimuli.”

Strong fingers skimmed across the small of her back, drawing her in tight against Ryan’s body. His erection ground into her hip and she gasped in recognition. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one affected by outside stimuli.

His other hand cupped her chin and the rough callus of his thumb rubbed against her cheek. His eyes were so damn warm, so full of affection and excitement—

“Morning, doll,” Bullet interrupted.

Hell
. Daisy wrenched away from Ryan. “Bullet.” She stared down at the floor, desperate to disappear into the patterned carpet.

“You get something to eat this morning?” Bullet asked.

“I don’t do breakfast.”

The old man’s laughter was warm and familiar. “You talk to a waitress. Someone will bring you something to eat.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” she mumbled. “I’m supposed to be incognito.”

“Sure thing, doll.” He patted her arm. “Don’t worry, I’m talking to all the players this morning. Figured it was a good idea to remind them who’s in charge. Besides…” His gaze flicked to Ryan—standing behind her—and back again. “I wanted to ask you a question. How’d you two meet?”

“Us?” Daisy fumbled. “Ryan and me?”

“Yeah, I know you don’t date a lot—”

“I date plenty. I just don’t tell you.”

Bullet shrugged. “Maybe. I was just wondering how you became all connected at the mouth with Mr. Wilson here.”

“Sch—school,” she stammered. “We met at school.”

“Harvard or UCLA?”

Daisy’s heart was slamming against her chest. Her lungs felt tight. Why hadn’t she worked out a story ahead of time? She licked her lips. “Harvard.”

“UCLA,” Ryan said at the exact same time. He took a step closer so they were standing side to side. “Harvard first and then UCLA off and on. I travel for work.”

“And what do you do?” Bullet asked.

Ryan didn’t miss a beat. He started talking about his job as an account executive, complaining about the hours and making jokes about his clients. It was fake, all of it. He wasn’t a salesman. He didn’t spend his days pitching contracts at well-dressed men. He’d never accidentally mistaken a CEO for a secretary.

Still, he made her believe every word he was saying. No wonder the FBI wanted him undercover. The man could lie with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

Daisy’s stomach churned. Was he lying to her? Telling her exactly what she wanted to hear and nothing else? She wanted to talk to him, needed him to tell her the truth, but at the same time…she couldn’t trust him.

Not really.

The man was a gambler and a professional liar. He could tell her that water was dry and the sky was green, and if he smiled at her and stroked her hair at the same time, she’d probably believe him.

Her stomach clenched until it hurt. Not knowing when Ryan was telling the truth was like standing in front of the ocean waiting for a tsunami to hit, knowing any minute she’d have the sand knocked out from under her.

Then his hand curled around hers and she forgot to listen to what he was saying. All she could think about was the way he’d looked at her when they were kissing. Like he’d been looking for something and finally found it.

Bullet said a few more pleasant words, then wandered off to look for more victims to chat up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Daisy said.

“He’s protective,” Ryan murmured in her ear. “I understand. There’s a lot of bad stuff in this world—a lot that’s not right—and when you finally find something good, it’s worth putting yourself out there.” He squeezed her hand tight. “You’re lucky to have someone like that watching your back. Someone you can depend on.”

His shoulders slumped forward slightly, and when Daisy glanced up, he was staring off into space. Thinking about something a million miles away.

“The first round’s about to start,” Daisy finally said, breaking through Ryan’s reverie. “You should go find your table.”

“Of course.” He took his hand back, jamming his long fingers into his pockets as if he was afraid of where they might go if he left them free too long. There was a long pause. “That kiss was just a show, right? For Bullet.”

Daisy’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips, giving her time to get her expression under control.

The kiss had started out as a show, but somewhere along the line, she’d forgotten all about their audience. The only thing she’d been thinking about was Ryan’s body, so close she could feel his heart beating.

He didn’t need to know that.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Of course.”

“Hell’s bells,” Ryan scoffed. “I can’t believe you play poker.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got the worst poker face on the planet,” he said. “You can’t lie.”

He said that like it was a bad thing.

“I’m a college professor, not a badass secret agent.”

“Today you’re a poker player.” He was looking at her like he wanted to tell her something—maybe give her a few pointers on lying—but then he shook his head. “Just… just don’t bet anything you’re not afraid to lose. Okay?”

Whatever.
Daisy shook her head and walked off to find her table.

The dealer was still going through his usual patter when a waitress showed up with a coffee and a pastry for Daisy. “From the gentleman in the corner.”

Bullet.
Daisy was going to tear the guy a new one. She was supposed to be incognito. She was supposed to be sneaky. She wasn’t supposed to be flaunting her relationship with the Hendrix’s manager.

But then she glanced over in the direction the waitress indicated and there was no sharp suit or steel-gray hair…just a golden god dominating his game with a smile and a laugh. Ryan.

He’d sent her breakfast.

Daisy’s heart thumped against her ribs, pounding nervously. She didn’t do breakfast, and she didn’t kiss the same man two days in a row, but here she was…kissing Ryan.

That wasn’t good. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Ryan was not a one-night stand—not with four days left in the competition—and he definitely wasn’t tidy. She needed to get a hold of herself.

But if he smiled at her, she’d do it again…and again…and again.

Maybe avoidance was the answer. If she couldn’t control her own impulses, then she could, at least, control the situation. No more talks alone in her room. No more unnecessary displays of affection. She’d do her job and hand the perpetrator over to Ryan. He’d do whatever the hell he was doing and leave.

Perfect.

So, why did the pastry suddenly taste like cardboard in her mouth?

Daisy played carefully all day, depending on the statistical strategies she’d developed as a teenager: No-nonsense slow playing, and when she saw an opportunity, she took it. The game was just math—no matter what Ryan said—and she was damn good at math.

Between rounds, she circulated the tables to watch the other players and dealers to see how they worked. Everyone seemed to have a different strategy. Most of them took unnecessary risks.

If this was an ordinary day on the casino floor, she’d be able to look at the facts and figures for every table—the average take, the cut for the house—but a tournament was different.

She needed to see what was going on. She needed to rely on rusty instincts.

Her nose wrinkled up at the thought. Instinct was for fools and FBI agents. The only thing she could depend on was her brain.

So, she went back to her room and called Bullet. She was checking her email a few minutes later when a tech support guy showed up in a polo shirt with the Hendrix logo embroidered on the breast. He fiddled with her computer for a couple of minutes and the casino’s security feed popped up on the screen.

“I’ve got you hooked in to the cameras for the poker room. You should be able to see back forty-eight hours,” he said. “Any longer than that—any other parts of the casino—and you’ll need to go downstairs to the security office. That okay?”

“Forty-eight hours is fine,” Daisy reassured the man, tipping him a twenty on his way out the door.

She sat cross-legged on the bed and began to scroll through the footage. Some of it was interesting. Most of it was boring as hell. She checked her email and then watched some more video.

She’d been watching for a little over an hour when someone knocked. Bullet? The tech guy? She walked over and opened the door.

Ryan. Looking delicious in a cornflower Henley and a pair of worn jeans that conformed to his muscular thighs like a second skin. His feet were bare. His hair was wet from the shower, and Daisy had the strangest urge to lick the side of his face, tasting every inch of juicy goodness.

Instead, she put her hands on her hips and frowned. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” Ryan’s voice was a throaty
purr
. He waltzed into her hotel room without an invitation. “You eat dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.” Daisy shut the door and turned to watch him.

“Well, I’m going to call down for room service.” He settled onto the couch before grabbing the room phone and ordering room service. The person on the other end must have said something funny because he laughed before hanging up.

“I was going to get you a salad,” he said, “but you missed lunch, so I made it a burger and fries.”

Daisy’s traitorous stomach grumbled hungrily at the thought.

“Want to tell me about it?” Ryan asked.

“Nothing to tell.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You missed lunch. You took off as soon as your last game was over. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you at lunch,” Daisy denied, fumbling for an explanation. She crossed her arms. “I needed to answer some emails from the university. Nothing special.”

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me.” His bare feet stretched out wide in front of him. His legs were splayed like an open invitation. “You’re really not good at it.”

“I did answer some emails,” she said. “The dean keeps trying to convince me to be on some grad student’s thesis committee. It’s not really my field, but she’s young and female. The dean thinks she might be more comfortable with a woman on the committee.”

Ryan considered her words for a long moment. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s not really my field. That’s why I’ve said no. Twice. Besides, I have enough grad students as it is.” Daisy shrugged. There was no good reason for the dean to still be corresponding with her. She’d made herself clear. Still… “Brenda’s a good kid and she’s damn close to finishing. I’d hate to screw it all up for her.”