Page 25 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
It wasn’t halfway through the day’s play yet and Cassidy's chip stack had grown obscenely large. More due to Vega’s cheating dealer than her own skills.
Between the stress and worry about how Kenji and Spencer were making out with Van Der Werme, she could barely tell a two of hearts from a three of clubs.
Forty-seven thousand in tournament chips—more than double what she'd started the day with—and she could feel the weight of every suspicious glance from her opponents.
When would Vega arrange for DJ Reagan to be at her table?
Surely Vega would put Reagan at a table with her soon.
For now, the old pro, Harrison Wells sat directly across from her, his weathered fingers drumming against the felt in a rhythm that matched her accelerating heartbeat.
The Vegas player studied her with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. "Interesting run of luck, Angel."
"Cards are cards," Cassidy replied evenly, though her hands trembled as she stacked her chips. The familiar ritual felt foreign now, tainted by the knowledge that none of these wins belonged to her.
The crystal chandeliers overhead cast harsh shadows across the green felt, making the faces around her appear gaunt and predatory.
Even the ambient sounds of the casino—the soft click of chips, the hushed conversations, the distant chime of slot machines—were muted, as if the entire world was holding its breath and waiting for her exposure.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh. She glanced at the screen:
Kenji: Service corridor B, level 2, near the laundry. Come alone. Critical.
The message's stark urgency made her pulse spike. Why would Kenji want to meet in such an odd location?
"Ladies and gentlemen," the tournament director's voice crackled over the intercom, "we'll be breaking for lunch in five minutes. Play will resume at two o'clock."
Relief flooded her. One more hand, then she could escape the suffocating weight of suspicious stares and forced smiles. The stone-faced dealer began the next round, handing her a terrible start.
Luckily.
She folded—shoving forward legitimately terrible cards that the dealer seemed disappointed not to be able to improve—and excused herself from the table.
The resort's main corridors, with their cream marble floors and tasteful tropical décor, should have provided sanctuary. Instead, every security camera felt like an accusing eye, every passing staff member a potential witness to her fraudulent winnings.
The farther she travelled away from the main public areas, the emptier the corridors.
Service corridor B proved to be a stark contrast to the resort's polished public areas.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh white that made the industrial gray walls appear prison-like.
The air carried the sharp scent of commercial disinfectant mixed with the faint mustiness of laundry detergent.
Her heels clicked against polished concrete, each step echoing off the bare walls.
Kenji appeared from an alcove near the laundry entrance, his presence both comforting and alarming. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and tension radiated from his rigid posture like heat from pavement.
When he spotted her, his relief was obvious. "You good?"
She forced herself to smile. “Tired and hungry, but yeah. Good.”
He glanced both ways down the corridor. "We need to talk, but not here. Not where we can be seen together."
"Why?" Cassidy's voice carried more edge than she'd intended. "What's happened?"
"No surveillance cameras in this corridor," he explained, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "But we can't risk being spotted by staff or security. I need you to put on a disguise."
Before she could question him, Kenji guided her to a cleaning closet tucked behind a service door.
The small space smelled of bleach and floor wax, with metal shelves lined with industrial cleaning supplies and fresh linens.
A housekeeping cart waited just inside, loaded with towels and cleaning products.
A maid's uniform hung from a hook on the back wall—simple black dress with white apron, sensible shoes in what looked like her size.
"You want me to what?" Cassidy stared at the uniform in disbelief.
"Put this on, hide your clothes in the cart, then wheel it to my room. I swept it the minute I checked in. It’s the only place I know we won’t be watched.
Act like you're heading in to clean. And keep your head down as much as possible. Less chance they’ll pick you up on surveillance cams." Kenji's expression was grim.
"Room 847. I'll explain everything once you get there, but Cassidy—we can't be seen together. Van Der Merwe is hunting us now."
The words hit her like cold water. "Hunting us?"
"Spencer and I tried to approach him this morning. It went badly. He knows someone's targeting him, and if he connects us to you..." Kenji didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
With shaking hands, she pulled the uniform over her clothes, the cheap polyester scratchy against her skin.
The shoes were a size too large, making her feel unsteady as she adjusted the apron's ties.
In the closet's tiny mirror, she barely recognized herself—the polished professional poker player had vanished, replaced by just another invisible resort employee.
"Remember, keep your head down, don't make eye contact with guests," Kenji instructed as she gripped the cart's handle. "Service elevators are at the end of this corridor. Eighth floor, turn right."
He was gone before she could answer.