Scout's Honor (2 page)

“You staying long?” Larry continued. “Maybe
we can get together one of these nights . . . one of these hot
nights, when—”

“The lady’s nights are already spoken for.”
Mitch’s voice cut through the syrupy come-on. His grin was still in
place and he hadn’t moved a muscle, but Anna felt a definite change
in him. As a rescue his words weren’t much, but they definitely had
the desired effect on Larry Walters. His hand tensed on her back,
then he slowly withdrew it.

“Who’s this guy?” he asked, jerking his head
in Mitch’s direction.

The opportunity to put Larry in his place
was too good to pass up. She pretended to look surprised as she
turned to him. “
This
guy?” Her voice rose and one silky brow
arched. “You mean Mr. Mitchell Summers? Didn’t St. John inform you
of his arrival?” The first signs of doubt crossed Larry’s face, and
Anna knew exactly what he was thinking—his job wasn’t so secure
that he could afford to offend one of St. John’s special guests.
“Mr. Summers owns Summers Oil.
The
Summers Oil out of—”

“Denver,” Mitch interrupted, extending his
hand and grinning broadly.

This man catches on fast, Anna thought,
throwing Mitch a shrewd glance. Larry shook Mitch’s hand, and Anna
had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud at the miraculous
transformation in his attitude.

“We run the best tables in Nassau, Mr.
Summers. If you need anything, just ask for Larry Walters.” He kept
pumping Mitch’s hand, relief evident in every word. “None of my
dealers will give you any trouble, mind you, but if you’re looking
for something you don’t see, well, just find me. I can set you up,”
he added with a wink.

Anna barely suppressed an irritated sigh.
Pimping on company time wasn’t written into any of the employee
contracts that she knew of. “I’m sure Mr. Summers will be
adequately entertained, Mr. Walters,” she said coolly.

“Yeah,” Mitch said as he draped his arm
around Anna’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Old St. John is
taking real good care of me.”

She shot him a glare. He not only caught on
fast; he moved fast.

Larry’s eyes widened as he took in the
proprietary action. “My, my, my . . . You and St. John must be very
good friends. Yes, indeed. You just remember Larry Walters, Mr.
Summers. Anything you need, just call me.” He backed off, a sleazy
smile curling his full lips.

The instant Larry’s attention was elsewhere,
Anna extricated herself from under Mitch’s arm. It didn’t take any
effort. He released her easily and stepped back a bit to give her
more room.

“A friend of yours?” he asked, nodding at
the retreating form of Larry Walters.

“Mr. Walters works here. Sometimes he
forgets that,” Anna said, dismissing the pit boss, and took a sip
of champagne. “Thank you for helping me remind him.”

“My pleasure.” A boyish grin replaced the
put-on one he had given Larry.

Despite her efforts to the contrary, Anna
found herself responding in kind. What was it about him? she
wondered. “Yes, I’m sure it was, but now I really must be going.
Good—”

“Don’t say good-bye.”

“—night, Mr. Summers,”

“Just as bad.” He shrugged. “You sure I
can’t buy you dinner?”

She met his eyes directly, forcing herself
not to be taken in by their openness or the inappropriate
attraction she felt toward him. Larry Walters was a minor
irritation compared to the trouble this man might bring. She didn’t
know yet what that trouble might be, and she wouldn’t until St.
John checked him out.

Slipping off her chair, she graced him with
a cool smile, one designed to put them back on stranger’s ground.
“Good night, Mr. Summers, and good luck. Try not to take advantage
of Larry Walters’s apparent generosity. He doesn’t own the club.”
She set her champagne glass on the bar and cocked her head. “One
more word of advice. I’ve seen you play, and I suggest you stick
with the slot machines. Unfortunately, they don’t have a keno
lounge in this casino.” She knew he’d been around enough to catch
the obvious insult in her recommendation, as keno was a game
similar to bingo. She also knew that if he liked the front of her
dress, the back was going to make his tongue hang out.

Turning on her heels, she strode gracefully
away from the bar. Then some sly thought from deep in her mind made
her stop and throw him a smile over her shoulder. Yes. Blatant,
unadulterated appreciation was written all over his face. He shook
his head in wonderment. A crooked grin lifted one side of his mouth
and made her want to reassure him that the laws of gravity still
ruled the earth. She shrugged off the feeling and laughed, and
tossed her mane of jet-black hair as she made her way to the
baccarat table.

Poker was Anna’s game when she played for
herself. She had two reasons for tonight’s game: St. John had asked
her, and she enjoyed the change of pace in playing with someone
else’s money. St. John would stake her, and she would keep a
percentage of the take.

Thinking of St. John, she glanced around the
chandelier-lit room, looking past the glitz and glamour for the man
who made it all happen in Runner’s Cay Casino. It only took her a
moment to spot the tall, dark-haired man also headed toward the
gilded cage of the baccarat table. When St. John walked into a room
there was no doubt about who was in charge. He carried the banner
of control and responsibility like an invisible crown. Elegance
marked his every move, arrogance subdued to calm confidence. In an
impeccably tailored white dinner jacket, he was the focal point of
every female eye in the private room.

They noticed each other at the same moment,
and St. John held out his hand toward Anna, an inquisitive light
shining in his cool gray eyes. He pulled her close and bent his
head to whisper in her ear.

“We need to talk before you take your place.
Let’s go into my office.”

Anna wasn’t surprised by his request. He
often had special instructions before he let her loose with several
thousand dollars of his money.

The solid oak door closed behind them with a
resounding thud, followed by the discreet click of a special light
switch. That light warned his employees not to disturb them.

“Anna, Anna, Anna,” St. John said with a
sigh. He dropped into his leather wing chair and gave her an
exasperated look. “What is holding that dress up?”

“Willpower, big brother, sheer willpower.”
She smiled as she helped herself to a cognac from his private bar.
The clink of crystal filled the silence, the excitement and noise
of the casino a muffled backdrop behind the closed door.

“Do us both a favor and don’t wear it home
for Thanksgiving. Dad would tan my hide if he knew I let you run
around like that.” He stretched out a hand to accept the drink she
offered.

Anna sat in the chair opposite his desk, a
shuttered look descending over her eyes. “Is that the new mandate,
then? Home for Thanksgiving?” She took a sip of cognac, then
lounged back in the soft leather, crossing her legs and flicking
the strap of her sandal off her heel.

St. John eyed her warily, measuring his
words before he spoke. “You’ve been running pretty fast these last
few years, Anna. I think it’s time to forgive and forget.”

“Oh, I’ve forgiven him. In his own way he
did me a favor. I just wish his timing had been better. He didn’t
need to make a fool out of me in the bargain.”

“We’ve been over this a thousand times,” St.
John shook his head. “You were a wild child and Dad was desperate.
He would have done anything to keep you from marrying that
penniless duke or count or whatever he called himself. The man was
an international playboy who needed a heavy transfusion of
cash—Lange cash, if that was all he could get.”

“You make it sound as if I were an
afterthought.” Her mouth tightened in unconscious self-defense. “He
was in love with me, you know.”

“Wasn’t everybody?” St. John shrugged, then
softened his words with a smile. “You were a beautiful girl, who
has grown into an even more beautiful woman, Anna. And thanks to
our father you’re in control of your own life and your own money.
Count what’s-his-name would have had you barefoot, pregnant, and
broke inside of a year.”

“But to buy him off on the steps of the
church? Good Lord, St. John, every gossip rag in the country ran
pictures of Dad writing out the check and shoving Antonio into a
taxi.”

“It’s old news, honey. Nobody cares
anymore.”

“I still care.” She did care, quite
perversely. Every protective mechanism she’d developed over the
years could be traced back to her wedding day. Antonio’s deception
had sliced her heart open then. The sophisticated woman with the
cool gray eyes who sat across from St. John now would never be
deceived by such childish dreams.

She swirled her drink in the glass, watching
the light glint off the facets of crystal. “You don’t have to play
the heavy, St. John. You know I’ll be there. I’m always there for
the holidays.” She didn’t need to add the reason she dutifully
showed up at her father’s house every holiday. They both knew she
didn’t have anywhere else to go. Beautiful, rich women attracted a
lot of male admirers and few female friends.

Anna often wondered if her father regretted
destroying her wedding. As much of a fiasco as her marriage would
have been, at least it would have kept her off the casino circuit.
As St. John said, she had been a wild child. What had started as a
game of spite had somehow evolved into a way of life. The time when
she should have settled down had long since passed her by. If she
hadn’t been able to make a living at gambling it might have been
different, but Anna was good at what she did.

Too good for her own sake, she thought,
running her fingers along the split satin folds falling from her
crossed knee.

“That settles Thanksgiving, then,” St. John
said. “Let’s get down to business.” He pulled out a sheaf of
papers, and they spent the next fifteen minutes going over the
gaming habits and balance sheets of all the high-stakes gamblers in
the club that evening. Anna recognized a few of the names, so they
spent their time on the ones she didn’t know. As the last point of
business, St. John opened his safe and counted out ten thousand
dollars.

Anna recounted the money for him and tucked
it in her purse, knowing he would escort her to the table. “One
more thing, St. John. I need a favor.”

He finished locking the safe before turning
around. “Name it.”

“A man has been following me—”

“Nothing unusual about that,” he interrupted
her, smiling wryly.

She shrugged a bare shoulder, as if she
didn’t think it was unusual either. “I think he’s a reporter. He
followed me from San Francisco two days ago, and finally introduced
himself tonight.”

St. John’s eyes hardened and his voice
dropped twenty degrees as he asked, “Has he been bothering you,
Anna? I can have him taken care of quite easily and very
discreetly.”

“No, no. It’s not like that at all,” she
hastened to inform him. Somehow the image of Mitch Summers’s face
really being broken upset her. “I think he’s harmless. I just want
you to get some information on him so I know how to deal with him.
I’m not even sure he’s a reporter, but I can’t figure out why else
someone would be following me.”

St. John relaxed slightly. “If you’ve been
wearing that dress, I can come up with half a dozen other reasons.
Where were you playing in San Francisco?”

“Chinatown, Mr. Wong’s.”

St. John wrote down the information. “He had
to know someone to get in there, and if he knows someone, someone
knows him. I’ll have him checked out. What’s his name?”

“Mitch Summers.”

“Point him out to me when we cross the
room,” he said, rising from his chair and offering her his arm.
“Are we still on for a late supper?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, planting a
kiss on his cheek. With a flick or her wrist she pulled his
handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off the smudge of
lipstick. “You won’t have much luck with the ladies if it appears
you’re spoken for,” she said teasingly.

“I’ve already got a date for tonight—don’t
forget. I’ll be by the table around midnight, and we’ll celebrate
with your winnings.”

She laughed as he opened the door and
switched off the light. “I’ll be lucky to get out of here with the
shirt on my back.”

He shot her a dry look and an even drier
smile, muttering, “I wish you
had
a shirt on your back.”

As they crossed the room, Anna wondered
about the life she’d chosen for herself. She was getting jaded, and
that hurt a little. There had to be more to life than keeping a low
profile in the fast lane, but St. John was right. She’d been
running too hard to find anything else. Maybe this time she’d stay
in Nassau, invest her money in Runner’s Cay, and take the
management position her brother had been offering her for the last
couple of years. Then again, maybe not. Somehow she couldn’t quite
picture herself growing old gracefully as the grande dame of casino
gambling.

St. John slipped his hand under her elbow as
they ascended the steps to the baccarat table. Their circuitous
route through the casino had failed to reveal Mitch Summers, and
Anna felt a pang of disappointment as she settled into the
number-four chair. If nothing else, his fresh-faced interest had
been amusing.

Don’t kid yourself, lady, she thought.
Amusement was hardly the right word to describe her response to a
simple kiss on the palm. Simple? Try again, Anna. She pulled her
money out while the last hand finished playing, only half listening
to St. John’s whispered instructions.

The caller gave her a discreet nod of
acknowledgment, and as she responded in kind she slid her glance to
the other players and met a pair of soft brown eyes. A slow smile
tilted her lips as disappointment melted into a mixture of pleasure
and regret. He hadn’t taken her advice, and she knew the game would
change considerably now that she was here. A quick look around the
table showed bets just above the minimum, and she would be pushing
the house limit within the hour. She hoped Mitch Summers had enough
sense either not to get caught up in the action or to get out.