13

The Game

“That makes another win for Eden St. James,” the dealer says, grinning deeply as Eden rolls a blue chip—one of the expensive ones—across the felt as a tip. “The bell for last call just sounded, so get ready for your final ante of the day.”

Six chips are tossed into the middle of the table with a soft clank. One of the men lost already—just a few hours in, actually. He was fine until Eden asked him if he planned to blink that rapidly every time he bluffed, because it was starting to get on her nerves. I’ve never seen anyone strive—and fail—so valiantly not to close his eyes. He and his dry eyeballs lost pretty soon after that.

“Are you sure you want to bet that much?” Eden asks me as the game continues and I push a stack of my chips forward. “At this rate, you won’t have anything to play with tomorrow.”

“I’m sure.” The pair of jacks winking up at me promise a change in my fortunes. “Even your winning streak eventually has to come to an end.”

From the looks of it, I’m not alone among my friends and relatives in finding the first day of poker to be off to a discouraging start. Of everyone in the room, only my dad and Grant appear to be enjoying themselves—my father, because emotion of any kind is rarely allowed a chance to surface, and Grant, because I presume he’s baiting Hijack to within an inch of his life. At least, that’s the vibe I’m picking up from the way the pair of them keep facing off across their table.

According to my tally at the last break, both Riker and Tara are also losing heavily, which means Team FBI isn’t doing so well overall—not good news. If each of us ends up getting kicked off our tables within the first few days, our access to Johnny Francis suspects is going to be severely restricted.

Of all of us, though, poor Lola is in the worst position. Long since done trying to hold that tiara high, she’s curled up on the bleachers, her head in Jordan’s lap. Even though her father is seated just a few feet away, fully capable of lifting her burden, he hasn’t looked over at her even once.

Peter, I need hardly mention, is playing just fine.

“That’s another full house for me,” Eden says with a cluck of her tongue as she pulls the stacks of chips to her side of the table. “How far down does that make you for the day, Penelope? Three hundred thousand? Four?”

Worse. By my last count, I’ve lost about half my money so far.

“I was just lulling you into a false sense of security,” I say. “And planting fake tells so you think you know my every move. Did you notice them?”

Her sharply narrowed eyes indicate that she took careful note of everything I said or did, though of course none of it was planted. I’m not so sophisticated a player as that.

“Is this what Kit was talking about earlier?” she asks. “Are you toying with me by playing around with the truth?”

Well, yes. It’s all I can do, especially since an honest win isn’t in the cards, so to speak. Eight hours spent in this woman’s company have shown me two things: one, that I actively dislike her; and two, that she has a much cooler head than I do. Not even a threat to hunt down and eat everyone she’s ever loved could cause her to misplay her cards.

These people are kind of scary.

“Kit O’Kelly is an incorrigible flirt who would say anything if he thought it would put him at the center of attention,” I say as I rise from the table. “I wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth if I were you.”

She stays seated, presumably to oversee the dealer counting out our money for tomorrow’s game. “I don’t. But then, I don’t believe a word out of yours, either. You two are up to something.”

We two are up to a lot of things, but I’m not about to share them with this woman.

“You think?” I say. “And here I thought he was just trying to get in my bed.”

Her laughter is genuine. “That makes one of us. He certainly didn’t want in mine.”

“Oh, really?” I try to keep the smugness out of my voice, but it’s difficult. My husband might be a manipulative, mule-headed idiot nine-tenths of the time, but he’s a manipulative, mule-headed, loyal one.

“Yes, really,” she replies without looking at me. “I’ve never flirted so hard with a man as I did with Kit the night we prowled the ship together. He flirted back, but it was all superficial. No man has been less interested in me my entire life.”

“Maybe he finds your personality off-putting. You can’t tell me that hasn’t happened to you before.”

This time, her laugh is so loud, it takes me aback. “Why, Penelope Blue. I think you’re growing on me.”

I’m immediately on alert. “I thought you said you were immune to being charmed.”

“Yes, well. That was before I knew you were on such close terms with Lola Sanchez. You’re useful to me now.”

My admiration for the woman moves up a notch, but so does my internal alarm. Between Hijack’s flattery, Eden’s sudden burst of attention, and all the fake rumors floating around this boat, I might be the most popular woman around, but I’m not so self-deluded as to think I’m the real focus. Right now, I’m the thief with the best access to that tiara, period. That’s all anyone cares about.

“Being useful to you is, of course, at the top of my list of priorities,” I say dryly and leave it at that. As much as I’d like to keep pressing Eden for information, I have a few more days of her company to look forward to. My super stealthy and charming interrogations will have to wait. My main priority right now is getting Lola somewhere she can rest. The next priority after that is getting me somewhere I can.

“How’d it go?” Jordan asks as I approach the bleachers. The sympathy in her drawn brows indicates she already knows the answer to that question.

“Ugh,” I say. “I forgot how much I hate poker.”

“I know. I could tell when you remembered. It was about fifteen minutes in.” Jordan casts a look over my shoulder. “Hey, Riker. Bad day at the tables?”

Lola, who had been looking rather wilted until now, perks up the moment Riker appears. Although holding her neck up has to be killing her, a bright smile crosses her face, and she lifts her long-lashed eyes in Riker’s direction.

“I thought you played wonderfully,” she says with a burst of enthusiasm. “Oh, I wouldn’t have played for that flush right before lunch, and I think you were a little too quick to get rid of that ten of spades for the chance at a straight, but I loved watching you. You hold the cards so well.”

He stares at her. “I hold the cards well?”

“Absolutely. You have such nice hands. I could watch you play all day.”

Jordan and I are careful not to look at each other for fear of falling into hysterics. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Riker turn that shade of purple before.

“But when you sit down tomorrow, you might want to try easing up on bluffing the eensiest bit,” Lola continues, heedless of the dangers. “Not that you aren’t good at it, of course—though you always toss your cards around when you’re trying to hide something. No, it’s just that bluffing won’t work against Two-Finger Tommy.”

Riker’s ire simmers to a more controllable level. “Really? Why?”

“He’ll call every time. He always does. It doesn’t matter if he has nothing more than a pair of twos in his hand—if you’re staying in, so is he. He doesn’t like to back down from a challenge. He thinks it makes him look weak.”

Riker’s ire is now full-blown interest. “How do you know this?”

“Daddy plays against him all the time. He likes to know all the latest methods for cheating at cards, and there’s no better way to stay current than to study what Two-Finger is up to.”

Riker opens his mouth to continue this line of questioning, but I’ve got a few queries of my own. Two-Finger and Johnny Francis seem to share a few too many unappealing characteristics for my peace of mind. “What else does Daddy know about him?” I ask.

“Oh, loads of things. He says Tommy is more like a snake than a man, but good luck proving anything against him. He always covers his tracks.”

With that, my suspicion that the two men might be one and the same grows, but Riker has other concerns.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he growls.

Lola is instantly contrite. “Oh, dear. Was I not supposed to?” She clutches his arm. “I thought everyone knew about Two-Finger’s love of cheating. It’s not great news, but if anyone can beat him, it’s you. I just know it.”

Tara chooses that moment to join our party. A strange expression settles over her face as she notices her boyfriend being soothed by another woman. I take note of it with a sinking heart. Whereas Tara is sharp and cunning and wields her sex appeal like a knife, Lola is sweet and trusting and as unaware of her charm as a kitten. There aren’t a lot of women who could incite my stepmother to jealousy, but I imagine Lola is one of them. Artless innocence is the one thing she’ll never have a chance of competing against.

“How’d it go?” I ask, more out of an attempt to save Lola from Tara’s anger than any real interest.

Tara shakes herself off and turns her attention to me. “It could have been worse. I broke my losing streak there toward the end, but I’m still far enough behind that I’ll have to make up a lot of ground tomorrow. You?”

I shake my head. “Horrible. Eden has it out for me.”

“I’m not surprised. You’ll want to watch out for that one. She’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”

“Questions?” I don’t like the sound of that. Questions lead to answers, which could lead to Grant. “What kind of questions? And who has she been asking?”

“The usual—who you hang out with, what motivates you, why you refuse to act like a normal thief who just takes things and then moves on with her life.” She shrugs. “I think she might try to bribe you into taking the tiara. Don’t do it for less than ten million. She’s not trustworthy.”

“Thank you for that super helpful tip,” I say. Trustworthiness isn’t an adjective I’d apply to most of the people on this boat—Tara included. “Anything else you’d like to inform me of? The color of the sky? My own middle name?”

Tara tactfully ignores me, but Lola giggles. It’s nice to know at least one of my friends finds me amusing.

“So what’s the plan now?” I ask. I know that the answer isn’t all of us should quietly return to our rooms and contemplate the day’s events, but I cross my fingers anyway.

“Observation deck. Alcohol. Party.” Tara rattles off her plans with fearful efficiency. “The night is young, and so are you, my dear. If you want to keep up your reputation as the great Penelope Blue, you’re going to need to put in more effort than this. There’s already talk of your dismal failures at the tables today. People are starting to wonder if you made up most of your successes.”

“I was never the one—” I begin, but there’s no use arguing. Everyone is making plans to change and grab a bite to eat before the festivities begin.

Since I doubt my husband will miss the opportunity to present himself in such an open, crowded, dangerous place as a party full of drunk criminals, I resign myself to going along. One of us, at least, needs to be acting like the responsible adult in this situation.

I just really wish it didn’t have to be me.