Page 17

The first few hands were cautious affairs, with everyone feeling each other out, trying to get a sense of their various strengths and weaknesses.

Sherene won a small amount of chips with a pair of queens, while Lonnie managed to take the minimum bets twice with aggressive early betting before anyone saw the community cards.

Standard tournament poker behavior, but something about Brad Norton’s steady gaze made Caleb’s demon senses tingle.

He looked down at his pocket jacks — not aces or kings, sure, but still strong enough to play. Deciding to go for it, he called Lonnie’s initial raise, watching carefully as Brad Norton’s eyes seemed to gleam with an unnatural amber glow for just a fraction of a second.

It could have been a trick of the lighting…or not.

Sherene folded, muttering something under her breath about garbage cards.

Then the flop came out: jack of diamonds, seven of clubs, seven of hearts.

Now Caleb had a full house. A strong hand, nearly unbeatable.

Lonnie bet half the pot — a move that could have meant he was maybe sitting on pocket aces…

or complete air and was just trying to bluff his way through this thing.

Brad Norton called almost immediately, that strange gleam flickering in his eyes again.

Caleb’s demon blood stirred, recognizing that some kind of magic was at work, even as he fought to ignore the sensation.

This was exactly the kind of situation where he would have used his powers in the past — just a little peek at his opponents’ hands, just enough to know whether to push all in or make a strategic retreat.

But no. He’d promised himself. He had to trust his reading of the situation, his instincts, his understanding of the game.

He called.

The turn brought the ace of spades. Lonnie checked this time, showing the first crack in his aggressive facade…

and letting Caleb know that he probably wasn’t sitting on as many aces as he’d feared.

Brad Norton bet big, nearly half his remaining chips.

The move screamed strength, but at the same time, there was something almost artificial about it, something off that again made Caleb’s supernatural radar ping.

From the rail, someone coughed, and Caleb caught a glimpse of an older man with iron-gray hair watching Brad with particular intensity. A handler, maybe? Someone helping to channel or focus whatever power Brad was using?

The pot was massive now, and Caleb had to make a decision. His full house was strong, but if Brad had hit that ace….

No. The magic he was sensing wasn’t about the cards themselves, the kind of manipulation he would have employed if he were using his demon powers to win.

No, this was subtler than that — some kind of influence over people’s emotions, maybe?

Something that would make other players more likely to fold when Brad wanted them to?

Well, two could play at that game. Or rather, one wouldn’t play at that game at all.

Caleb pushed his chips forward, doing his best to fight back the grin that wanted to spread across his mouth. “All in.”

Lonnie folded immediately, but Brad’s face twisted into something that, for just a moment, looked barely human. Then the mask slipped back in place, and he called with an almost mechanical precision.

“Jack-ten of diamonds,” he announced, turning over his cards. A strong hand with a flush draw, but not strong enough.

Caleb showed his two face-down cards, which were both jacks, and watched as the final community card dealt was a two of clubs, which didn’t help anyone’s hand.

He’d won the hand straight up, no powers needed — even as he couldn’t help wondering if Brad’s supernatural assistance had actually worked against him this time, making him overconfident when he should have folded to Caleb’s all-in move.

As Brad got up from the table, the older man Caleb had noticed earlier slipped away from the velvet rope, disappearing into the crowd.

Brad’s gaze followed him, and Caleb caught a glimpse of something like relief in the other man’s expression — as if a weight had been lifted… or a connection severed.

“Nice hand,” Sherene said crisply, already focused on the next deal.

“Thanks,” Caleb replied as he stacked his newly won chips. He was one step closer to the finals now, and he’d gotten there entirely on his own merits.

Well, his own merits…plus a little help from someone else’s overconfidence in their supernatural edge.

Lonnie was eyeing him with new respect, but Caleb kept his expression neutral. There would be time to celebrate later. Right now, he had to focus on maintaining this momentum — and keeping an eye out for any other supernatural players who might be lurking in the tournament.

After all, if two of his opponents so far had been using magic, who knew what he might face tomorrow?

The idea sent a stir of unease through him, but he knew he had to stay cool, no matter what.

With Brad gone, the rest of that evening’s play went smoothly. Something of an air of unreality descended as he realized he’d survived today’s round and would be going on to the final round of eliminations tomorrow.

Which meant Delia would be there to watch him play.

After accepting congratulations from the players he’d bested — and the others who would be playing tomorrow — he sauntered out to the parking lot, whistling as he went. Because he’d been able to park so close, he didn’t have to walk very far, and soon was inside his Porsche and heading for home.

Just as there had been many more people attending the tournament tonight, a lot more cars choked the roads as well.

Under different circumstances, he might have cursed under his breath at all the clueless drivers with out-of-state plates, but now he just wanted to get home so he could call Delia and tell her the good news.

True, he could have called while he was driving, but the traffic was just gnarly enough that he thought it better to keep his eyes on the road.

Good thing, because just as he was approaching an intersection, the light turned yellow, and his foot instinctively went to the brake pedal.

Except nothing happened.

Correction — something happened, just not the outcome he’d expected.

The pedal went straight to the floor, but his Porsche kept barreling toward the intersection without the slightest hesitation.

Shit.

The cars that had been waiting for their light to turn green were already beginning to move forward. Luckily, no one seemed to have floored it, which meant he had a small opening.

A very small opening.

He’d already lifted his foot off the gas, so the Cabriolet had begun to slow ever so slightly. Maybe that would be enough.

Even with its brakes malfunctioning, the Porsche had been designed to hug the road on curves and turns, and Caleb took advantage of its low-slung proportions to whip the vehicle to the left to avoid someone in a Prius who’d jumped the gun on his right, and then mirror that maneuver to prevent himself from slamming into a minivan that shouldn’t have been nearly so gung ho.

Tires squealed and smoke billowed everywhere, but he didn’t hit anything.

No, somehow he managed to make it to the other side of the intersection, the Porsche slowing with every foot until he managed to drift it over to the curb, where he promptly put it in park and then sat there for a moment, adrenaline screaming along every nerve ending and his heartbeat a rapid, frightened pounding in his chest.

Some part of him wondered if the car would start up again, if it was truly possessed, but that didn’t seem to be the case. No, it just sat there, one hundred and fifty thousand bucks’ worth of heart-attack-inducing steel.

Caleb swallowed, then pulled out his phone and looked up the number for Triple-A. He didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but he knew he wasn’t getting behind the wheel of the Cabriolet again until he’d had it inspected from top to bottom.

That had been way too close.