Page 7

Chapter

Seven

VOODOO

M arva Duvall, also known as the Peacock, seemed to enjoy pai gow as much as she did flirting. Her somewhat careless attitude, playful glances, and gentle caresses with her free roaming hand seemed at odds with her reputation.

Each time she patted my left thigh, she landed somewhere slightly different.

The artless brushes of her hand down my shoulder and arm were as much a pat down as anything else.

It wasn’t difficult to understand how she’d avoided detection.

As attractive as she was in a gilded lady manner, she didn’t radiate “underworld menace.”

In my book, that made the stories about her all the worse.

“You must tell me…” She eyed me expectantly as we played the next hand. I had as yet not given her my name and I had no intentions of doing so.

“Tell you what, lovely lady?” I increased my buy-in with each game, though the last three had all ended in a push with the dealer.

Madame Duvall had also increased her wagers as I did, but she’d lost two of the past three and only pushed on one.

Neither of us had beaten the dealer since the first hand when I joined the table.

We were now on our fifth game, and the other players had dropped out as the stakes climbed with each game. It was akin to playing chicken with an asp. You just had to be comfortable with the idea that you might get struck and have to deal with the venom.

Amusement kindled in her honey brown eyes as she set the stakes for the next game, raising the initial bet to five thousand. “You are a dangerous one, aren’t you?”

“That depends,” I said, affecting a careless shrug as the last of the other players at the table ceded their position rather than place a bet. It was down to just us and the dealer.

“On?” She dared me as I debated both progressive and fortune bets. The progressive pot had also significantly increased with each game with no one taking the prize. That was far more like baiting the hook. I could respect it.

“What game I am playing—fortune bet?” We had not placed this side bet even once.

“Based on our current odds, that would seem unwise.”

Though there was no denying the flash of interest in her eyes. The private guard attending her backed off as she waved her hand at him. I lifted a finger and Lunchbox also retreated a couple of steps. It gave us an illusion of privacy.

“Odds have never impressed me. Odds are designed to intimidate the foolish and challenge the daring.” I picked up the aged Scotch I’d been nursing since I sat. The ball of ice had begun to melt and water it down. Not that one drink was going to do me in.

“What are the current odds up to?” she asked the dealer.

“At the moment, fifteen thousand to one. The progressive is now up to three hundred thousand.” The dealer waited, not urging us to continue or demanding we start.

Whether that was down to the fact it was just the two of us or because she was one of the luminaries in their dirty little world was anyone’s guess.

I’d wager it was some of column A and some of column B. Still, the past hour had given me some insights, and there was a mental clock ticking down in my head. When she withdrew, the auction would begin.

When it started, we needed to be in that room. We needed to identify, tag, and question the members of Nocturne. The pretentiousness in the name was enough to make me ill.

Still, I met Duvall’s gaze evenly and raised my brows. “Live a little…”

“How about we make it a little more interesting?” The low throaty invitation coupled with her hand squeezing my thigh was all about sex.

“What did you have in mind?” She wanted it? She was going to have to spell it out.

Head canted, she crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. Keeping one hand on the table, I braced the other against the back of her chair. While I trusted the guys to have my back, I dipped my chin to protect my throat even as I leaned toward her.

The barest of touches as she pushed my hair away from my ear. The woman just could not keep her hands to herself. No wonder she was one of their highest bidders and earned a seat at that table.

“We’ll wager the money—it’s only money. But I want you to add something to the Fortune pot for me. A private wager, just between us.”

“I’m waiting.”

For a moment, her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed. I was definitely playing with her, but not ceding even a little control. I wasn’t agreeing to anything without details.

“If I win, you spend the night with me.” Her lips brushed my ear, and that was no teasing mistake. It was more than just the whisper of her breath, she was definitely trying to come onto me. “All night, until dawn…and we can let whatever happens—happen.”

Lifting the glass of Scotch, I swirled it then glanced at her. “And when I win?”

A throaty laughter escaped her. “I do admire your confidence.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I countered, then knocked back the rest of the drink. The warmth hit my system, and helped to smooth down some of the bile burning its way up thanks to this game.

She stroked her lower lip with her tongue. The deliberate move offered a suggestion of eroticism, but I didn’t even pretend to let it affect me.

“You intrigue me,” she said finally. “Enough for me to agree to a great deal more than I would normally. So I will ask you this… what do you want?”

I met her stare and held it. There was the faintest dilation of her pupils. Her nostrils flared. Yes, she was very turned on and invested. Somehow, I suspected she would very much agree to whatever I asked.

With that in mind, I leaned forward and whispered next to her ear. “An invitation.”

She blinked, straightening and taking a deeper breath. But it was too late to cover her more tremulous reactions. Settling back, I tapped one of my chips against the table as the dealer and I both awaited her decision.

“That’s it?” She appeared to be turning it over, looking for the trap. One would assume if I needed an invitation that I didn’t already have one.

Or, more likely, because I was here, I did have one. What I wanted was access to the upper echelons. Of course, the latter was far more accurate.

“That’s it.” I agreed. “One night.”

Some of the tension left her. So just this evening. I could almost see the rationalization play out on her face. This wasn’t permanent. No more permanent than her getting me to stand stud for a night.

Not like that was ever happening.

“Done.” She put her chips in with a flick of her wrist. I didn’t smile or crow. I just ante’d up and motioned to the dealer.

I divided my cards into the high hand and low hand. Yes, they would definitely do particularly after a little sleight of hand.

The dealer laid out his tables. A pair of aces and eights in his high hand. Five and seven in the low.

Marva smiled. A straight in her high hand. Three and two in her low. A push. It wouldn’t win anything, but she didn’t lose.

Yet.

They both eyed me and I flipped over my high hand. Royal flush. Pair of nines for the low hand.

I beat them both.

“Well,” she said with a long exhale. “Well done, sir. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

The dealer passed the markers to me. The progressive win was mine as was the hand, and the fortune. A total of just under three million. But not under by much.

I passed the dealer a five hundred dollar chip as I rose. Then I tucked the markers into the inner pocket of my jacket. It would be nice to clear the money but that was not the primary mission.

A server came by our table and presented a card to Madame Duvall. “What excellent timing.” She rose, ever graceful. “Would you be so kind as to join me?”

“I would be honored.”

She took the arm I offered. “Both of yours with you?” She waved her invitation toward Alphabet and Lunchbox.

“Absolutely. I presume you’re taking all three of yours.”

A flash of irritation danced through her eyes, but she shuttered it away swiftly. I probably shouldn’t enjoy tweaking her so much, but I hadn’t missed any of her security. Better for her to understand that I was not an easy mark.

“Of course.” She let out a soft laugh. “This is what happens when I let a pretty face turn my head.” She made a show of fanning herself as we headed toward the elevators. Unsurprisingly, the Nocturne would be meeting on a different floor.

The man we’d already identified as Suitcase was already at the elevator bank with his own retinue. He surveyed our little group with cool eyes before he nodded to Madame Duvall—Peacock. When the doors opened, he and his went in and they rode alone.

Alphabet hit the button to summon the car back once the elevator was on the move.

Another elevator opened. We boarded the empty one.

Removing her hand from my arm, she pulled a key from beneath her dress.

While it looked like an old fashioned skeleton key, she merely pressed it to the tap and a secondary keypad opened.

She chose an unmarked floor for our destination. The elevator’s motion told me we were going up. Not down. So wherever we were headed, it wasn’t below where they were actually hosting the auction.

That made sense. They probably wanted to do their bidding with creature comforts in place. Based on the seconds passing, we climbed six levels. So we were back in the luxury hotel’s private area most likely.

Above ground.

That would make exfiltration easier.

When the doors opened, it was to thickly carpeted hallway that muffled even the suggestion of steps. The walls were done in varying shades with expensive artwork serving as general decor.

The one with the young girls as ballet dancers offered a disturbing surrealism to this macabre drama we were unearthing. Madame Duvall gestured with one hand the directions we needed to follow.

At the end of the hallway was a pair of double doors standing wide with guards in place. Movement in the room showed Suitcase was there well ahead of us. Diamond passed the doors with a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other.

The room was quite full with bidders, the Nocturne, and their various parties. I just gave the room a bored sweep of my gaze before glancing at Madame Duvall.

“My table is there.” She motioned to one near the back. “I don’t like to be crowded.”

“Would you care for a drink?” It would allow me to disconnect and put me on the back foot with her. The offer of service seemed to brighten her mood.

“Romanee-Conti Grand Cru 2019,” she said, with a slow smile. “The bottle. Two glasses.”

Taking her hand from my arm, I cupped her palm as I lifted her knuckles to my mouth for a kiss. “Of course.” I held her gaze for just a few seconds longer than necessary as lips brushed over her skin. When her pupils widened again, I smiled and then stepped away.

Her people converged on her as Lunchbox and Alphabet did with me.

“Pretty sure she would have skipped this entirely if she’d won that hand,” Alphabet commented.

“I’m sure she’ll manage her disappointment.” I waited for my turn at the bar.

“I’ve got four more,” Lunchbox said, barely moving his lips.

“Two more arriving now. That’s eleven, there were five in here with Peacock stepping in.” Alphabet had tucked his phone into his pocket, but he had a lapel camera in place and he was photographing the room and had been since we settled in the casino.

“Find your seats,” a man near the front said. “We will begin in five minutes. Guest lists and menus have been delivered to your tables.”

Guest lists?

I slid a look at Lunchbox. His expression didn’t reflect the grimness in his eyes. Not one drop. But I felt every ounce of the darkness sliding through him.

Guest. List.

“Oh, well,” Alphabet said. “That could be a problem.”

I’d just ordered the wine bottle and turned to see what had snared Alphabet’s attention and locked eyes with Reznik, Captain T. The last time I’d seen him had been five minutes before all hell broke loose.

“You,” he snapped as recognition rippled over his face.

Yeah, why should it be any different today?