Kathleen Creighton - Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

So she was wary, on her guard. He hadn’t wanted to push too hard, thinking he’d be better off to leave himself someplace to go with his next try. Which was why he was sitting in the parking lot staking out the nursery, waiting for her to come out so he could follow her, see where she lived, find out where she liked to go for lunch. Figure out how he might “happen” to run into her again. Maybe this time he’d offer to buy her a drink, or even dinner.

If he could just get her someplace indoors where she’d have to take off those damn shades…

Meanwhile, what in the world was he going to do with six rosebushes? Donate them to an old folks’ home? He’d have to think of something. Hell, he didn’t even know anybody who grew roses.

When someone knocked on the window of his car about six inches from his ear, he did three things simultaneously: Ducked, swore and reached for his weapon.

Then he remembered he wasn’t carrying one at the moment, that it was currently in the glove compartment of his vintage Mustang. By which time he figured if anybody had been looking to do him damage it would already be lights-out.

However, he was still swearing a blue streak when the door on the passenger side opened and Billie Farrell slipped into the seat beside him.

She looked flushed and exhilarated, almost gleeful-and why shouldn’t she? She aimed a look at the open front of Holt’s jacket, inside which his hand was still clutching his shirt in the area over his rapidly thumping heart.

“Well, I guess that tells me one thing about you. Whoever the hell you are. You’re used to packin’.”

“Actually,” he muttered darkly, “I’m just checking to see if I’m having a heart attack. Jeez, Billie.” He slid his hand out of his jacket and ran it over his face, which had broken out in a cold sweat. “What were you thinking? If I had been packing , I’d have probably shot you-you know that, don’t you?”

She shrugged, but behind the dark glasses her gaze was steady, and he could almost feel the intensity of it. “Nuh-uh. If you’d been packin’ I’d have seen it when you took out your wallet. See, I notice things like that. That’s because I used to be in the kind of business where you need to notice things like that. But then, since you know my name, you knew that already.”

Holt returned the measuring stare, his mind busy trying to gauge how much further he could reasonably hope to carry on with his charade as a horticulturally challenged out-of-town wedding guest. Or whether he should just pack it in and go with the truth.

Not being happy with either option, he decided to go with something in between. He held up a hand. “Okay, look. I recognized you. I’ve watched you play. I admit it-as soon as I saw you, I knew that was you, and…well-” and it was only the truth, wasn’t it? “-I wanted to meet you.”

“It’s been years since I played poker.” Although she looked away and her voice was quiet, she didn’t relax one iota.

And although he nodded and gave her a rueful smile, he didn’t, either. “I watch old poker tour reruns on television when I can’t sleep. The game fascinates me. I know it’s got to be more about skill than just dumb luck, because the same people always seem to make it to the final table.”

Her eyes came back to him, her lips curved in a half smile. “Oh, believe me, luck still has a whole lot to do with it.” Her head tilted, and the dark lenses taunted him. “Please tell me you’re not planning on trying your hand at the game while you’re in town.”

“Well, actually…”

“Oh, lord.” She faced front again and hissed out a sigh.

“What? Why not?” He straightened, genuinely affronted.

She laughed without sound. “Why not? Well, okay, go ahead, if you don’t mind losing. Just do yourself a favor, stay away from the high-stakes tables.”

“What makes you so sure I’d lose? I’ll have you know I do pretty well at online poker.”

“Sure you do, because nobody can see your face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah,” he said, and meant it.

They were bantering, he realized, though there was nothing light or easy about it. The tension in the car was almost tangible, like a low-pitched humming, but something felt along the skin rather than heard through the ears. He had the impression she was playing him, flirting with him, deliberately trying to distract him from whatever his agenda was.

But, without being able to see her eyes, of course, he couldn’t be sure.

“Mister-”

“It’s Holt.”

“Well, Holt, you’ve got tells a child could read. Okay?”

“Come on.”

She smiled, and this time a pair of dimples appeared unexpectedly. “Look, don’t get insulted. Most people have ’em and aren’t even aware they do. That’s why you see so many poker players wearing hats and dark glasses.”

“Is that why you do?” he asked softly.

The dimples vanished. “Like I said, I don’t play the game anymore. I guess I’ve still got the habit.” She waited a couple of beats before continuing. “Do you even have a sister?”

Holt snorted and didn’t bother to answer. He listened to the shush of the air-conditioning and the throb of the idling motor and the hum of that unrelenting tension, and Billie sat there and listened along with him. Patient, he thought. Probably one of the things that had made her a success at the poker tables. Because in spite of what she’d said, he knew it was more than just luck.

He exhaled, conceding her the hand. “Okay, so you made me.” He paused, then said, “I’m curious, though. How come you’re here? Sitting in my car? Making conversation?”

“Why not? It’s a nice car.

Then it was her turn to huff out air, too softly to be called a snort. “You’re familiar with that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’?”

He jerked-another tell, he was sure, but what the hell. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Well, sure, you’d say that.” The almost-smile played with her lips again. “Tell you what, Holt-is that a first name or a last, by the way?”

“First. It’s Holt Kincaid.”

“Okay, so…Holt. Why don’t I let you buy me lunch and you can tell me who you are and what you really want. And I’m willing to bet the farm it ain’t rosebushes.”

He laughed, then sat still and did a slow five-count inside his head. Then, still slowly, before he shifted from Park into Drive he reached up and unhooked his sunglasses from the sun visor and put them on. And heard her knowing chuckle in response.

He didn’t think he’d let himself show the triumph he was feeling, but he was beginning to realize that with this lady, there was no such thing as a sure bet.

She directed him to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet place in a strip mall not far from the nursery, and since it was fast, convenient and kind to the pocketbook, Holt figured she was probably a regular there. That theory was confirmed when Billie gave a wave and a friendly greeting to the two women at the cash register-mother and daughter, by the look of them-and got smiles in return.

She breezed through the dining room, heading for a booth way in the back, one he happened to notice was turned sideways to the entrance so that neither of them would have to sit with their backs to the door. Somehow he doubted that was a coincidence.

“Is this okay?” she asked with apparent innocence. And although the lighting was low, she didn’t take off those shades.

“Sure,” he said, and she swept off to the buffet.

Because he didn’t entirely trust her not to slip out while he was dithering between the kung pao chicken or the sweet-and-sour shrimp, Holt got himself a bowl of wonton soup and settled back in the booth where he could keep an eye on her. He watched her slip in and out among the browsing diners, adroitly avoiding reaching arms and unpredictable children, wasting little time in indecision, since she obviously knew exactly what she wanted.