скачать книгу бесплатно
Marcus didn’t trust the answer but knew it was all he would get tonight. He pushed the bottle away. “All right. See you later.”
MARCUS SHIVERED. The water was turning cold. He stepped out of the shower, wincing when he grabbed too quickly for the thick white towel on the counter.
He looked down at the ugly red scar that ran along his collarbone. It’d been three months since he’d finished rehab, and the pain could still take his breath away. He’d better take a handful of ibuprofen before he went to bed, or it would hurt like hell tomorrow.
He wiped down the foggy mirror; chocolate-brown eyes stared back at him. Dark circles accented the lines underneath them. His wet black hair needed a trim. He had more gray there than he remembered.
His nose canted slightly to the left—the result of a bar fight when he was twenty. He certainly wasn’t twenty anymore. Tonight he looked every one of his thirty-nine years, or as Manny would say, “worse ‘n usual.”
Marcus dug around in his Dopp kit for the medicine, thinking about the Tonk’s owner and his daughter. Apparently, Manny had never delved too deeply into Earleen’s “walk on the wild side,” he was so glad to have his daughter home.
She’d recognized Marcus as soon as he’d walked into the Tonk—several weeks ago. By her account, she’d never told Manny how she got home from Jackson, or that Marcus was really a cop.
Marcus wasn’t sure if that was true, but she had been his best informant since he’d been in McCay County, and Manny hadn’t kicked him out of the bar yet. So that was probably a fair sign.
While Manny himself didn’t deal, drugs were sold in his place with surprising regularity. The Tonk was a hot spot for all kinds of sin in South Mississippi. Every undesirable, hood and petty crook within a three-hundred-mile radius eventually made their way through his bar.
Earleen had introduced Marcus to lots of people there, including Frank Boggs. Frank dated Carlotta, a friend of Earleen’s. That’s how this investigation had all started: one interesting conversation at the Tonk with Marcus doing what he did best—listening, blending in, talking when necessary.
When Boggs found out Marcus was a bodyguard at the Paddlewheel, he was anxious to talk about McCay County’s sole casino and what it was like to work there. The hell of it was Marcus had been at the Tonk that night strictly to hang before he went to work.
He’d needed to see for himself that Earleen was okay. That she was happy. Every once in a while he needed to see that he’d done something right when the cover was starting to get to him, even if he had to stay under to do it. So technically he wasn’t even “working” the job when the initial contact happened.
He ignored the fact that it said something dark about where he chose to spend his time these days. Even working undercover, he recognized he was not in a good place. But then he’d met Boggs and it only reinforced Marcus’s self-destructive behavior.
Stupid blind luck.
“So you like working at the casino?” Boggs leaned over the table with his pool cue to take his shot.
“Yeah. Just wish I could make more money at it.”
“Don’t we all. Lots of money there at the ‘Wheel.” Boggs sunk a ball in the right corner pocket.
“At the Paddlewheel?” Carlotta plopped down on the round serving table directly across from Frank, seemingly too drunk to care that others could see straight up her micro mini to a Brazilian wax.
Marcus nodded. “Most casinos make ten to twelve percent. The ‘Wheel makes about thirty.”
“Good God, what does that much money look like?” Boggs stood up straight, the pool game and Carlotta’s peep show forgotten.
“Oh, it’s quite a sight. There’s a special counting room, of course. A few times there’s been so much money they haven’t been able to count it fast enough.”
“So what did they do?”
“Put the money in plastic garbage bags until they get it counted.”
“You’re kidding me. Garbage sacks full of money?”
Marcus nodded. “Hell, an armored truck got stuck clear up to the axles once.”
“I don’t get it,” said Boggs.
“The weight. It wasn’t a muddy road. It just sank into the gravel because of the weight of the coins. They had to get a damn crane to haul it out of there.”
Boggs listened with rapt attention.
“Those two armored security guys were sweating bullets,” continued Marcus.
“How come? They got guns, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but most of the casino guys don’t,” said Marcus.
Earleen brought him his extremely watered-down drink, their little secret, and raised an eyebrow when he asked her to keep ‘em coming. She handed Carlotta a beer and whispered something to her, but Carlotta didn’t respond.
“All that money and no guns,” mused Boggs. “Sounds like they’re just asking for it.”
“The casino is too afraid of bad publicity, like if there was to be an incident, shooting a patron or something. The money’s insured against theft once it leaves the casino in the armored trucks.”
“Still…seems nuts to me,” said Boggs.
“Yeah, but you gotta understand. The Paddlewheel isn’t run by the ‘casino people’ from Biloxi, Tunica or Vegas. It’s been an experiment with unbelievable timing. Goes back to the storm. Some good old boys made an investment, along comes Katrina, and suddenly the Paddlewheel’s the only casino still online and their little gamble’s paying off an incredible return. They had no idea they’d ever be able to compete with the coast or Tunica—they weren’t even going to try. They just wanted to cash in on some of the local gambling dollars that were going out of town.”
Marcus leaned on his pool cue as he explained. Boggs hung on every word.
“Katrina took those big casinos out just as the Paddlewheel was getting started and people had nowhere else to go to gamble. The ‘Wheel earned itself a nice little reputation in the process. A boutique casino if you will. Some folks don’t like all the glitz and glam of the big casinos along the coast so they come up here, particularly some of the bigger spenders who like their privacy.”
“An awful lot of money to have so little security,” Boggs sat directly in front of Carlotta and took her beer. Marcus carefully chose his seat on her other side, to avoid getting an eyeful of her “attributes.”
“Oh, they have security. Metal detectors before you go inside and some of the finest manpower available.” Marcus thumped his own chest and grinned. “It just doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of the big boys’ systems.”
Marcus hadn’t told him anything that wasn’t common knowledge. Even the part about garbage sacks of money was already the stuff of urban legend.
Everyone knew the guards didn’t carry guns. It’s why the casino had to have those private bodyguards, especially on the big weekends. That was the casino’s legal loophole on who could have weapons on the job.
Frank continued to quiz him about his work, specifically security. Marcus answered carefully as the questions became rather pointed.
“You sound like you’re planning a robbery,” said Marcus.
Boggs laughed and shrugged. “Oh, you never know. I might have some ideas.”
Since then, there had been several meetings like the one tonight. He’d met Gregor soon afterward. Asa had been with him for that, but he’d been called back to Jackson last week. The aftermath of that damned Simmons case was still burning them both. Marcus felt it every time he thought of Tessa, while Asa was being put through the wringer by IA about money that had supposedly gone missing from the scene. Marcus wasn’t implicated directly—he’d been too busy bleeding out to lift evidence, but the higher-ups were definitely angling to make him guilty by association.
Marcus didn’t plan on testifying against his partner, no matter what they threatened. Asa had saved his ass more times than Marcus could count. But they had some issues to deal with when this was all over, starting with Marcus’s own confession about Tessa.
He was wiped—mentally and physically. And it was more than just the rigors of the past few weeks. He rummaged in his Dopp kit for a toothbrush as he stubbornly refused to face the obvious. He was on the edge of a burn-out. Maybe things would look better tomorrow.
“Me and Scarlett,” he murmured.
His shoulder ached like a bitch. The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. He wanted a Scotch, but knew he wouldn’t want to stop with just one.
Cally had forgotten the homemade brandy she’d told him about when she brought up the sandwich. He was grateful for that. At this moment he might not be able to handle the temptation.
Instead, he brushed his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and dropped the towel before crawling between the cool, soft-as-cloud sheets. He stared at the ceiling fan. Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, throwing odd shadows on the far wall. The bowl of dried flowers and spices perfumed the air along with the faint hint of fresh paint.
It wouldn’t be much longer. Gregor’s plan was already unfolding. His strategy was disturbingly simple and that made it brilliant. In three days the Paddlewheel, the newest casino in Mississippi, would be robbed. And there wasn’t a damn thing Marcus could do, unless he helped with the crime.
Chapter Three
“Nooo…No! Help me!”
Marcus sat bolt upright in the bed.
“Bears go away, bears go away!” The child’s voice was shrill.
Marcus looked around as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It felt like the kid was crying next to his ear. As he fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, he spied the red lines dancing up and down on what he assumed was a baby monitor.
“Momma, help! Momma, help me!”
He flipped on the lamp and shook himself awake, puzzling over what the monitor was doing in his room until he vaguely recalled Cally saying something about finishing up the room today.
She must have left it then. He glanced at the clock. He’d been asleep for less than half an hour.
“Momma, plea…se help me.” The little voice was sobbing softly, pitifully.
Marcus wasn’t sure what to do. He could always just turn the damn thing off and go back to sleep. He was dead tired. But without the baby monitor, he wasn’t sure if Harris’s mom could hear the crying or not.
“Bears go away, please go away.” The boy’s cries were low and pleading.
Marcus had heard that tone of desperation in other people’s voices before. He’d had to turn those voices off without helping more times than he could count. It had been a requirement for the job.
He’d never mastered the art of being able to do it and not care. God, he was tired. His life felt so…empty.
“Momma…please…help me.”
Swinging his legs out of the bed, Marcus sighed heavily and reached for his jeans. He couldn’t turn off the monitor and go back to sleep. That voice would haunt him in his dreams.
CALLY SHOVED THE casserole for tomorrow’s breakfast into the refrigerator and turned to survey the mess in her kitchen. It wasn’t too bad. Only a few dishes needed to be washed before she went to bed.
The large combination kitchen and family room with its stone floors, brightly colored hooked rug and rag-rolled yellow walls was her favorite place in the house. Chambray-blue tile matched a loveseat and large upholstered rocker, both arranged by a generous fireplace.
She spent most of her day here—either cooking for her guests and sideline catering business or playing with Harris. She liked getting as much of the inn’s breakfast prepared beforehand as possible. That way she could eat with her son before she served the inn’s clientele.
She’d been stepping out of the shower when she remembered that she hadn’t made tomorrow’s ham-and-cheese casserole for breakfast. Her hair dried on its own in a riot of curls while she cooked. Maroon 5 was turned up on her earbuds. She shimmied and danced in place, singing along about a wake-up call as she washed dishes.
The guest buzzer rang insistently along with a blinking light, startling her into silence. The doorway from the kitchen to the rest of the house was locked at night so the chime rang here and in her bedroom for guests to call her after hours. She turned off the iPod, tightened the belt on her robe and opened the door.
Marcus North, all six feet three inches of him stood there in half-zipped jeans and bare feet. His denim shirt was unbuttoned—dark hair and a washboard abdomen registered. She looked up from this impressive view with some regret and raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Unfortunately in the past, she’d dealt with single male guests who thought a young widow innkeeper was fair game—part of the bed-and-breakfast’s à la carte menu. She hoped her new boarder wasn’t suffering under the same misconception.
“Yes, Mr. North?”
“I…ah…heard the baby crying over the monitor in my room and wasn’t sure if…”
“Oh my gosh, I left that thing in your room this afternoon. I’m so sorry. Did he wake you—”
She took in his tousled dark hair, her eyes dipping down to the unbuttoned shirt again, and interrupted her own question. “Of course he did. Let me go check on him. He has nightmares.”
She dashed across the kitchen to the hallway leading back to her private rooms.
“I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder.
MARCUS FOLLOWED her toward the hallway and stood at the entrance debating what to do. He turned to the large picture window at the far end of the family room. In the moonlight, he spied a boat dock.
River Trace backed up to one of the many half-moon lakes left when the Mississippi River had changed its course over the years. However, this lake was unusual in that it connected to the Mississippi when the water was up. During the flood season, as it was now, a boat could freely travel from the lake to the river and back again.
He looked out over the water and heard a door open down the hall.
Harris’s voice echoed around the corner. “Momma, Momma…the bears.”
“I know, sweetie, I know. The bears are all gone now. Momma’s chased them all away.”
“Momma, they…they…” Harris started to hiccup. “They so big.”
“They’re all gone now, honey. Shhh.”
“I called and called but you didn’t come.” Harris continued to weep and hiccup. Marcus’s heart clenched. No matter what, he’d made the right decision coming downstairs.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. I’m here now. Let’s get you a drink.”
“Want a—a—…ple jui—ce.”
“Then that’s what we’ll get.”
Marcus heard them start down the hallway and realized he’d been blatantly eavesdropping again. He headed to the refrigerator and was pulling out the apple juice when Cally came through the doorway carrying Harris.
She stopped.
“Your hands are full,” he said in explanation to her raised eyebrows. “Where’s a cup?”
She nodded toward the dish-drainer. “He likes the one with the purple leopard spots.”
“All right.” He felt Cally’s eyes on him as he filled the brightly colored cup and handed it to Harris.
“Thh—ank you.” He hiccupped.
“You’re welcome. Are you okay, big guy?”
Harris nodded, sniffed and stared at Marcus as he drank his juice. Cally swayed back and forth in the timeless manner of women with babies in their arms. Her oversize terrycloth robe fell to her ankles and her hair was a mass of curls around her shoulders. She shouldn’t have been attractive to him with her blue-eyed girl-next-door looks. He’d always gone for slightly exotic-looking women in his past, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her standing there in the kitchen.
