Ava Gray - Skin Game

If he wasn’t the best at what he did, he might be worried about the delay. It had taken him months to track her down the first time because Kyra lived quietly, didn’t flaunt her money, or take too much in a single score. Well, not usually anyway, not since Vegas. So people didn’t remember when she passed through.

This time, however, he had a plan B. Reyes hadn’t expected the woman to get away from him, but he’d taken steps, just in case. In his field, he was known for preparing for all eventualities. He drew out his phone and clicked a few keys, wanting to make sure the tracking device he’d planted gave a good signal.

Perfect. Someone else might’ve planted the transmitter on her clothing, but she’d change them, probably sooner than he could catch up to her. There was no telling how fast or hard she’d drive, how many miles she’d cover in one day.

But Kyra would never leave that car behind. He’d sussed out her love for it back in the bar, after glimpsing her quickly veiled reluctance to drop the keys into the pot. She’d wagered it, but only when she knew she’d win.

Reyes still wasn’t sure how she’d done that, or what she’d done to him that left her able to kick the guy’s ass in the convenience store. But he was positive of one thing.

Once he found the Marquis, all he had to do was stake it out. Reyes smiled, imagining her reaction. This would be fun. Anticipation spiked into his veins.

The waitress—a pink-haired, middle-aged woman with a beehive, who’d clearly watched too many Alice reruns on TV Land—came to take his order. His expression must have alarmed her because she took a step back. She fiddled with her pad and pencil. “Uh, if you’re not sure, I can—”

With some effort, he dialed the menace down. “No, I’m set. Thank you.”

He went for coffee, juice, and the special: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Since there was nobody else, his breakfast arrived fast, and he was pleasantly surprised. By the time he finished the last triangle, liberally smeared with good strawberry jam, he felt almost agreeable.

“Don’t clear my table,” he told the waitress as he stood, throwing down the crumpled twenty Kyra had left him. Reyes offered a warm smile to make up for the fact he’d scared her earlier. He knew he could be intimidating, but he didn’t generally try, not unless he was on the clock. “I’m going to get a paper, and then I’ll be back to drink your fine coffee and wait for my ride.”

She actually blushed, patting her hair with a plump hand. “Oh, we certainly have the space this morning. It’ll be my pleasure to keep your cup warm, sir.”

His lips twitched as he headed out. A machine in front of the motor lodge offered him a day-old American Press for fifty cents. Well, he’d take it. Scanning the headlines as he walked, he read about recalled meat, fragile college budgets, and mudbug madness.

Until Enterprise delivered his car, he had nothing but time.

Then the game was on.

That’s right, Kyra Marie. Keep an eye on your rearview mirror, because I’m coming for you.

Gerard Serrano gazed out over the skyline. From his penthouse, he had an excellent view of the Vegas lights. He should have felt some degree of satisfaction over what he’d achieved. Thirty years ago, he’d been a kid with nothing, coming to the Strip looking to make his mark. From there he’d clawed his way up to the top, stepping over a few bodies along the way.

“Like they say,” he muttered, “you don’t make the omelet without breaking some eggs.”

Until a few months ago, he’d been feared and respected. That had all changed the night Rachel Justice humiliated him in his own casino. Serrano clenched his jaw against the remembered burn of it. That wasn’t even her real name, of course. She wasn’t a kindergarten teacher. She wasn’t Presbyterian.

Kyra Marie Beckwith had played him for a fool like nobody had managed in twenty years. It didn’t help that his chief of security, Foster, had suggested he run a background check on her, months ago. If he hadn’t been so stu pidly infatuated, he would have listened. If Foster had his way, everyone would be fingerprinted before they were allowed to talk to him, Serrano thought with amusement.

That faded slowly as he recalled his problem. If he’d listened to Foster, he’d have known who “Rachel” was before things escalated and he could have taken care of things quietly. Now that was no longer an option. He had to make an example of her.

She’d used her position as his fiancée to disgrace him completely. If he hadn’t been out of town on business, she never would’ve been able to convince the cage cashier to pay out her money in large bills. She’d even gotten them to do it especially for her, not needing his approval because he’d told them to treat her word as his own. He’d intended to make her queen of his kingdom, the mother of his children.

He turned from the window as his security chief let himself into the office. Serrano recognized the cat-soft footfalls; nobody else who worked for him moved quite like Foster. He half suspected the man had a background in stalking and killing, but to Serrano’s mind, that made Foster more suited for his job, not less. He was a tall, slim man of indeterminate ethnic background. Sometimes Serrano thought he was Nordic, other times, German, but Foster had no discernible accent.

“Any word?” Serrano asked.

Foster functioned as the go-between in communication with the pro they’d hired to make the problem go away. Serrano didn’t dirty his hands with such things, and it wouldn’t be smart to leave a trail. The money that paid for the hit came from various hidden accounts, and not even from the same one.

The security chief inclined his head. “He caught up with her in Louisiana. When he has information regarding the whereabouts of your money, he’ll finish the job.”

“That’s good news.” Serrano smiled. “I want to get this wrapped up. I’m heading to St. Moritz in a few days.”

“I thought you hated to ski.”

“I do, but the women there are fantastic.”

His top man had the restraint not to say that his penchant for women had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Sometimes it was good for people to think they knew all about you. In some ways, this debacle could be turned to his advantage. It might be interesting to see who came snapping at the injured wolf’s throat. When the time came, he’d handle all challenges in the same way he always had—without mercy.

Foster didn’t know everything; he just thought he did. And the real reason Serrano was heading to Europe was a lot more interesting than he’d let on, even to his security chief. He didn’t think it was smart to trust anyone with the big picture.

“How long will you be gone?”

“A couple of weeks, I’d say. Can you handle things here?”

“You can rely on me.”

Something about Foster’s cool, neutral tone set off alarm bells. Serrano had never been able to pinpoint it, but he always had the feeling his security chief didn’t like him, not that it stopped the man from doing his job or cashing his paycheck. Maybe he was paranoid, but he hadn’t survived so many years in a dirty business by being a trusting SOB. One of his competitors might see his humiliation as a golden prospect to take him down, and any employee could be bought.

That was why he’d started thinking about a family, a son to inherit what he’d built. It would take the right kind of woman to give him what he wanted. He’d thought Rachel Justice was that woman, but she was just a con artist’s creation. That stung more than he liked, the fact that he’d been so cleanly taken. But Serrano didn’t let his temper get away from him. It wouldn’t do to show weakness, not even in front of Foster—maybe especially in front of Foster.