The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (73 page)

Vice picked up a few chips. “I’ll call.”

“You won’t win that easy. I’m in,” Nate said.

The dealer burned the top card. Chance stared at the dealer’s hands, silently begging for the jack of hearts. If the jack turned on the river he would have the best hand in poker — a royal flush. If not, he would be left only to hope for a heart for the flush. If the card was black, the best he could hope for was that he hadn’t wasted more of his money betting on a pair of aces.

The card flipped with a flash of black. Chance sucked in a breath. No …

Ace of spades. His hopes came crashing down. Three aces. It wasn’t a bad hand, but it was far from the best. They were both still betting, but since they were cheating it was likely that Vice or Nate, the one with the lower hand, was only pushing up the bet, hoping to get as much money as possible.

Maybe he should have folded, but it was too late now.

He needed a strong bet, one that spoke to the probability his cards were good, but small enough that he could still keep playing. If he lost this hand, he would only have two hundred thousand left. If Vice and Nate continued to work together that money would be gone in a flash. He had to play like this was it — everything came down to this last round of bets. “One hundred thousand.”

Vice pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ll raise you by sixty thousand.”

Just as he had assumed, Vice was pushing up the bet. If Vice folded in the next round of betting it would prove they were trying to control the table and steal his money. Chance looked up at the ceiling where a black bubble filled with cameras silently stared down. They better be watching.

Three-Eyed Nate lifted the corner of his cards, the action pensive, but it was all a ploy to pull Chance deeper into the game. “I can beat that, Vice. I raise.” He slid in two hundred thousand dollars like he was pushing away a plate after a large meal.

To continue playing, Chance would have to put up another hundred thousand dollars, only leaving him with a hundred thousand for the next hand, should he lose. Or he could go all in and hope and pray that he had the best hand. They were forcing him to move — out of the game or all in.

“I’m all in.” He counted out his remaining chips. “Two hundred thousand,” he said, sliding them into the mountain of chips at the center.

Vice let out a whistle through the center of his teeth. “Whew, you must have one hell of a hand.” He lifted the corner of his cards. “I’m out.” He lifted the cards and threw them into the muck.

Nate gave him a wild smile. Chance hated the feeling of being right where the cheaters wanted — at their mercy. “I’ll call,” Nate slid in the necessary chips and leaned back in his chair.

A lump formed in Chance’s throat. The security guards weren’t coming. Vice and Nate had gotten away with the collusion. Had he been the one being set up? Had the gaming commissioner played him for a fool and made him think the two men were plotting against him, when in reality they hadn’t? Had he gotten it all wrong?

Had he just lost everything?

He flipped over his pocket cards. Three of a kind.

Nate’s wild smile grew even larger, taking on the look of some strange god, the way his tattooed eye seemed to stretch and contort over his forehead.

“What is it, Nate? You got it beat?” Chance asked, tapping nervously on his cards.

Nate picked up his cards.

“Watch out! Excuse me!” A group of men and women rushed through the doors. The letters NPD were emblazoned on the chests of their brown police uniforms. “Vice Dalton and Nate Berkshire, you are under arrest for gambling fraud, cheating at gambling, and attempting to cheat and conspiracy to cheat.”

The cards slipped from Nate’s fingers. Queen of clubs. King of spades. Nate had gotten a straight.

Chance had lost it all.

The gaming commissioner’s office was filled with bland tan-colored filing cabinets. Above them on the walls was picture after picture of Mr. Blackwater standing, unsmiling, with the big names of poker and several professional football players.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Chance.” Mr. Blackwater stepped behind his leather office chair and leaning down, opened his desk’s drawer.

“I thought you were going to leave me hanging,” Chance admitted. “I was damn glad when I saw the police walking through the doors.”

“I’m sure you were,” Mr. Blackwater said, motioning for his bodyguard to close the office door. “But I’m always good to my word. I’m just glad I didn’t have to follow through on my threat.”

“So am I,” Chance said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He hadn’t ever intended on going against the commissioner, but he couldn’t help but imagine standing out in the desert just waiting for the bodyguard to place the bullet.

“As you know by now, Nate and Vice will be spending a significant amount of time in jail. I know you wish to keep your name out of the press for taking an active role in taking them down, but a debt is owed.” Blackwater slid the drawer shut. “When the police searched Nate’s home, they found proof that not only were they cheating the casinos out of millions of dollars, but they were also teaching other poker players how to run scams. You saved us from losing millions more. As a thank you, the Vegas casinos, including the Bellagio, have pooled some money.”

Mr. Blackwater lifted up the familiar silver briefcase. “Inside, not only will you find the five hundred thousand dollars from your tournament buy-in, but you will also find an additional six million. We hope you will return to our casinos with the knowledge you are always welcome.”

“You just want me to come back and spend the money at your casinos,” Chance said with a relieved chuckle.

“Hey, casinos are the imperfect heart of this city. I’m sure you know how far we are from being saints.” Mr. Blackwater picked up a pen from his desk and clicked the end, exposing the nib. “Speaking of saints, I just found out some interesting news about what was going on while the tournament was taking place. Have you had a chance to talk to any of your acquaintances yet?”

It had been a flurry of action. First the police, then the onslaught of questions from curious bystanders, he’d only barely escaped Bobby’s Room when Mr. Blackwater’s bodyguard had ushered him from the tournament. “No, I haven’t seen my friends since the police arrived.”

Mr. Blackwater almost smiled. “Well, Chance, we found not one, but two dead bodies in our hotel. In fact, your friend Harper was seen coming out of the rooms where the murdered individuals were found.”

What had Harper done?

“I’m sure she had nothing to do with either of the deaths,” Chance said, forcing an edge of cold, calm indifference into his voice.

“I think if you dug a little deeper, you would find that we are not far off the mark.”

If the gaming commissioner called the police it would spell disaster for Harper. How could she possibly explain being seen coming out of two different murder scenes? She could never tell the authorities about the drugs, or who she really was — they would punish her to the fullest extent of the law. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, Chance, your little friend cost us no money, aside for the fee to keep a few people silent about depositing the bodies in the sand. Let’s call this little incident with your girlfriend a professional courtesy. It won’t happen again, but this time we are willing to let a few things slide.”

Everything came with a price.

“And?”

“And what? You saved us millions. We can ignore a few inconvenient truths … Perhaps.”

“I’ve known you long enough, Mr. Blackwater, to realize that this isn’t the end of it. What’s your angle?”

One corner of Mr. Blackwater’s mouth finally turned up into what Chance was sure was the man’s finest smile. “You do know me well.”

“So?”

“Well, we are looking for a new professional poker player who is willing to call our casino home for a while. We are hoping to pull new international games to our tables. We’ve come to the decision you might just be the man we are looking for.”

Once again, the man held him in a position that only left one choice. “So you want me to be your pet poker player?”

“It’s up to you. But I bet that … ” He pointed at a note on his desk with two names scrawled beneath. “Dr. Eliot McDougal’s family would be interested to learn your acquaintance is responsible for his death.”

If Chance took the job he would be at Mr. Blackwater’s beck and call. If he didn’t, Harper would be carted to prison. He loved her too much to let something like that happen. Even if she didn’t love him.

“I’m in. I’ll take the job. On one condition … .”

“And what is that?”

“First, I get to finish raising my daughter.”

The entire trip they had talked about what had transpired in the hotel. Harper talked about Dr. McDougal’s tragic death and his cryptic warning about Jenna’s keys and how she still needed to find the books her sister had left behind. Chance talked about the game, and the turn of the cards. Kodie talked about the excitement of watching Nate and Vice being taken away in handcuffs. Starling talked about ghosts and all the things she had seen in Vegas, her favorite of which had been going to the Bellagio fountains with Jasper Gray — she kept calling them
enchanting
.

The one thing that none of them talked about was the future. Each of them seemed to sidestep the subject with uncomfortable silence or jarring conversational turns. No one wanted to talk about what was going to come.

Jenna’s little white 1950s house sat on the quiet Idaho street, lonesome and lifeless. Harper couldn’t help the thought that she was so much like this house. Her future looked dull as she thought of life without Chance, Starling, and Kodie. At least she had finally succeeded in helping the people she loved.

She glanced over at Chance. The fine lines around his eyes seemed to have deepened on their trip.

The truck came to a stop in the driveway. “I guess we’re here,” Chance said, finally breaking the heavy silence that seemed to have only grown as they had neared Worley.

“You are coming in, aren’t you?” Harper asked, but her heart was tearing apart. This was the last time she was going to see them. They had no reason to stay together. She had nothing to offer any of them, nothing except her love.

“That would be great,” Kodie spoke up from the back seat. “Let’s go, Starling. Let’s give these guys a minute.”

Harper turned and gave Kodie an appreciative smile even though her stomach was spinning. “Here,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out the key to the house. “You’ll need this.”

Kodie grabbed the key and opened the door to the truck. Starling scooted near and leaned into Harper’s ear. “A wise woman once told me it’s important to know when you need to fight,” she whispered. “Fight for love.”

Starling stepped out of the truck with Kodie’s help. The way her pale fingers fit into Kodie’s aged hand reminded Harper of how much she was going to miss them. Kodie and his love of life. Starling and her maturity and ill-fitting adolescence. And Chance. She would miss Chance most of all …

The truck’s door clicked shut behind Kodie and Starling. Starling gave her one last smile before they disappeared into the house.

Starling was right. She had to fight. It was now or never.

Chance reached over and took her hand. He stared out the windshield, unable to meet her gaze.

She wanted to fight, yes, but she had no idea what she was going to say — or if he wanted the same things she did, especially after she had told him that she didn’t love him.

It seemed impossible to make things better. But if she didn’t do something, she was going to miss him. She was going to miss the way his hands always seemed to find hers when she needed his touch the most. She was going to miss the way his eyes lit up when she entered the room. More than that, she was going to miss the feeling that filled her every time he was near. These feelings … This love … was going to be unforgettable.

Opening up her purse, she reached inside and pulled out Dr. McDougal’s envelope. “Here, Chance.”

“What’s this?” he asked, taking the envelope and opening it up. He pulled out the papers and stared at them as if they were written in Greek. “What does this mean?”

“It’s the chemical formula for GX 149.”

“What?” His smile caught fire and spread to his eyes. “How did you get this?”

“Dr. Redbird … dropped it.”

“Harper, you promise you didn’t kill her?”

“No.” She smiled. “Jasper did.”

“Starling’s friend?” Chance asked, his voice filled with a strange mixture of relief and annoyance.

Harper nodded. “He was sent by the sisterhood, and he’s going to be following Starling until we can make sure everything is safe from the Catharterians — the vulture-shifter group.”

“What am I supposed to do with the formula?” Chance lifted the papers. “You’re the only person who can help us.”

“I was thinking with your winnings you can pay a laboratory to make more of the drug. Make sure only someone you truly trust has access to the formula.”

The papers scratched as he slid them back inside the envelope. “Thank you, for everything … ”

“I made Starling a promise. I couldn’t let her down.”

“Have you forgiven yourself, Harper?”

“For what?” There were a million things he could have been talking about.

“For Jenna’s death?”

His question came out of left field, hitting her like a glancing blow. Yet, for the first time, it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like her heart was going to break into a million pieces with the thoughts of her sister.

“I don’t know, but having you and Starling in my life has made it all more bearable.” She paused. “I guess I haven’t forgiven myself, and I may never forgive myself. But Jenna made her own choices, and it’s time for me to move forward.”

A tired sadness overtook the fire in his eyes. “Are you going to go back to Seattle?”

For a moment she was back standing in the sterile, austere walls of the lab, spending twelve hours a day sequestered away in the lonely world of science. The thought made her shudder.